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Hiotographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  M/IJN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14S80 

(716)  872  4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  m6thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 


n 
n 

n 


n 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagee 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bhue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Heli^  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  on  de  !a 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int^rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
havp  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  tex;e, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  dt6  film^es. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pellicul^es 


I      I  Pages  damaged/ 

I      j  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

■jT'  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
I  Pages  d^color^es,  tachetdes  ou  piqu^es 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6ts:::h^8S 


Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualit^  in4gale  de  ri-npression 

I      j    Includes  supplementary  material/ 


D 
D 


Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellemert 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film^es  d  nouveau  de  facon  it 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


X 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  fiim6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


I        7 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

University  of  Saskatchewan 
Saskatoon 

The  irfiages  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grAce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

University  of  Saskatchewan 
Saskatoon 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t^  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  ia  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  I'exemplaire  filmti,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  in 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covets  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printecf  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couvetvure  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sent  filmds  en  commen^ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminsnt  soit  pur  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  emprsinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  seion  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'inr.pression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidt'e  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -h»- (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  7  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboleii  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ^-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  chart i,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  •':ire  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaun,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  r6duction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  11  est  f  if  -^  N  A  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

mmam 


STORIES  BY 

Mary  Hartwell  Catherwood. 

Each  volume  handsomely  bound  in  extra  cloth. 

ROCKY  FORK. 

332   pages,  i2iro,  $1.50.      Thirty-five  illustrations  from  original  designs  by 

Barnes. 

The  writer  has  a  very  happy  faculty  of  depicting  scenes  and  portraying 
characters,  so  as  to  make  them  attractive.  The  volume  is  published  in  hand- 
some style.  —  iVew  York  Observer. 

It  is  remarkably  sweet  and  pure  in  style,  and  in  literary  quality  is  seldom 
equalled  by  writers  for  the  young.  We  have  read  it  with  real  pleasure,  and 
have  turned  it  over  with  equal  satisfaction  to  a  little  woman  at  our  house 
whose  taste  for  the  best  reading  we  would  see  cultivated. 

—  A  merican  Rural  Home. 


THE  DOGBERRY  BUNCH. 

310  pages,  i2mo,  iji.eo.    Thirty  illustrations  from  original  designs,  by  Mary 

A.  Lathbury. 

Boys  and  girls  will  be  delighted  with  this  very  merry  story  of  seven  plucky 
children  who  would  hang  together.  These  seven  brothers  and  sisters  have 
the  family  name  of  Dogberry.  They  live  in  an  Illinois  village,  and  their 
father  and  mother  are  dead.  They  form  an  unique  as'ociation  to  save  money 
and  keep  themselves  from  being  separated—  7o«r«a/  of  Comtuerce. 

Pure  and  healthy  in  tone,  and  cannot  fail  to  please  and  inshuct  the  boy  or 
girl  into  whose  hands  it  falls.  —  Boston  Post. 

OLD  CARAVAN  DAYS. 

306  pages,  i2mo,  $125     Thirty-seven  illustrations  from  original  designs  by 

H.  Pruett  Share. 
A  veritable  record  that  reads  lik-   a  romance,  of  the  Westward  journey ings  of 
a  merry  household  in  a  "  mover's  wagon  "  some  forty  years  ago.     Robaday 
and  his  small  aunt  Corinne,  Grandma  Padgett,  Zene,  and  the  little  peddler 
who  could  not  speak  without  rhyming,  each  and  all  are  sketched  from  life. 

D.  LOTHROP  &  CO.,    PUBLISHERS, 

Franklin  and  Hawley  streets,  Boston. 


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OLD  CARAVAN  DAYS 


BV 

MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD 

AUTHOR   OF 

"  Rocky  Fork,"  "  Dogberry  Bunch,"  etc. 


FULL  Y  ILLUSTjifA  TBD  ^  *  I  y^ 

■  '   ■ '  •^,  r  r.  *•>  "VJ 


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•  U  r !  ; , 


«•  ' 


BOSTON 
D.    LOTHROP    AND    COMPANY 

FRANKLIN     AND     HAWLEY    STREETS 


67 ^5  HO 


Copyright  by 

D.    LOTHROP   AND  COMPANY 
1884 


CONTENTS. 


Chap 

I. 

II. 


Ill, 
IV. 
V. 
VI. 
VII. 
VIII. 
IX. 
X. 
XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 
XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 

xviir. 

XIX. 


The  Start    . 

•       •       •       . 

The  little  old  Man  with  a  Bag  on  h.s 

Back    . 

The  Tavern  . 



The  Susan  House 

The  Susan  House  Cellar 

Mr.  Matthews 

Zene's  Man  and  Woman 

Little  Ant  Red  and  Big  Ant  Black 
The  great  Camp  Meeting 
The  Cry  of  a  Child  in  the  Night 
The  darkened  Wagon 

•  •  t 

Jonathan  and  Thrusty  Ellen.        . 
Fairy  Carrie  and  the  pig-hkaded  Man 

Searching 

•       •        •       . 

The  Sprouting     . 
The  Minstrel 
The  House  with  log  Steps 
"Come  to  Mamma!" 
Fairy  Carrie  departs 
7 


Page 
II 

24 

34 
40 
61 
68 
84 

lOI 

"3 
129 

«39 
146 

169 

182 

194 

198 

211 

222 


91 


8 


CONTENl'S. 


XX.  SU.VDAY  ON   THE   RoAD 

XXI.  Her  Mother  arrives 

XXII.  A   COUNTRY   SUNIMY-SCHOOL 

XXIII.  Forward 

XXIV.  The  Toll-woman 

XXV.  The  Isoijijkrs        .... 

XXVI,  The  Fair  and  the  fierce  Bandit 

XXVII.  A  Night  Picture  of  Home 


230 
236 
246 

254 
2b5 

275 
289 

300 


230 

236 

246 

254 

2b5 

27s 
289 

300 


OLD  CAliAVA 


N    DAYS. 


I 


OLD  CARAVAN   DAYS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE   START. 


TN  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  hfty-seven,  on 
i     the  fifth  day  of  June,  the  Padgett  carriage-horses 
faced  the  west,  and  their  mistress  gadiered  the  lines 
into  hej  ir.itted  hands. 

The  moving-wagon  was  ready  in  front  of  the  car- 
riage.    It  was  to  be  driven  by  Zene,  the  lame  hired 
man.     Zene  was  taking  a  last  diink  from  that  well 
at  the  edge  of  the  garden,  which   lay  so  deep  that 
your   face   looked    like   a  star   in    it.     Robert   Day 
Padgett,  Mrs.  Padgett's  grandson,  who  sat  on   the 
back  seat  of  the  carriage,  decided  that  he  must  have 
,  one  more  drink,  and  his  aunt  Corinnewho  sat  beside 
him,  was  made  thirsty  by  his  decision.    So  the  two  chil- 
dren let  down  the  carriage  steps  and  ran  to  the  well. 
It  was   like   Sunday  all   over  the  fann,  only  the 
cattle  were  not  straying  over  the  fields.     The  house 

II 


% 


X2 


OLD    CAKAVAN    DAYS. 


was  shut  up,  its  new  inhabitants  not  having  arrived. 
Some  neighbor  women  had  come  to  bid  the  family 
good-bye  agai'i,  though  it  was  so  early  that  the  gar- 
den lay  in  heavy  dew.  These  good  friends  stood 
around  the  carriag*.  ;  one  of  them  held  the  front-door 
key  in  trust  for  the  n^w  parchasei.  They  all  called 
the  straight  old  lady  who  held  the  lines  grandma 
Padgett.  She  was  grandma  Padgett  to  the  entire 
neighborhood,  and  they  shook  their  heads  sorrow- 
fully in  remembering  that  her  blue  spectacles,  her 
ancient  Leghorn  bonnet,  her  Quaker  shoulder  cape  and 
decided  face  might  be  vanishing  from  them  forever. 

"  You'll  come  back  to  Ohio,"  said  one  neighbor. 
"  The  wild  Western  prairie  country  won't  suit  you 
at  all."  ,.^4 

**  I'm  not  denying,"  returned  grandma  Padgett, 
"  that  I  could  end  my  days  in  peace  on  the  farm  here ; 
but  son  Tip  can  do  very  little  here,  and  he  can  do 
well  out  there.  I've  lost  my  entire  family  except 
son  Tip  and  the  baby  of  all,  you  know.  And  it's  not 
my  wish  to  be  separated  from  son  Tip  in  my  declin- 
ing years."  ■     :      -;      .: 

The  neighbors  murmured  that  they  knew,  and  one 
of  them  inquired  as  she  had  often  inquired  before,  at 
what  precise  point  grandma  Padgett's  son  was  to 
meet  the  party  ;  and   she  replied  as  if  giving  new 


THE   START. 


13 


information,   that  it  was  at  the   Illinois  State  line. 

"You'll  have  pretty  weather,"  said  another  woman, 
squinting  in  the  early  sun. 

"  Grandma  Padgett  won't  care  for  weather,"  ob- 
served the  neighbor  with  the  key.  "  She  moved  out 
from  Virginia  in  the  dead  o'  winter." 

"Yes;  1  was  but  a  child,"  said  grandma  Padgett, 
'^and  this  country  one  unbroken  wilderness.  We 
came  down  the  Ohio  River  by  flatboat,  and  moved 
into  this  section  when  the  snow  was  so  deep  you 
could  ride  across  stake-and-rider  fences  on  the  drifts." 

"  Folks  can  get  around  easier  now,  though,"  said 
the  squinting  neighbor,  "since  they  got  to  going 
on  these  railroads." 

"I  shipped  part  of  my  goods  on  the  railroad," 
remarked  grandma  Padgett  with  a  laugh.  "  But  1 
don't  know ;  I  ain't  used  to  the  things,  and  I  don't 
know  whether  I'd  resk  my  bones  for  a  long  distance 
or  not.     Son  Tip  went  out  on  the  cars." 

"The  railroads  charge  so  high,"  murmured  a  woman 
near  the  back  wheels.  "But  they  do  say  you  can 
ride  as  far  West  as  you're  a  goin'  on  the  cars." 

"How  long  will  you  be  gettin'  through?"  inquired 
another. 

"  Not  more  than  two  or  three  weeks,"  replied 
grandma  Padgett  resolutely.      "  It's   a   little   better 


1^1, 11  III  ■■■■Jl^ 


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OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


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than    three    hundred    and    fifty   miles,    I    believe." 

"  That's  a  long  distance,"  sighed  the  neighbor  at 
the  wheels. 

But  aunt  Corinne  and  her  nephew,  untroubled  by 
the  length  of  pilgrimage  before  them,  ran  from  the 
well  into  the  garden. 

"  I  wish  the  kerns  were  ripe,"  said  aunt  Corinne. 
"  Look  out,  Bobaday  !  You're  drabblin'  the  bottoms 
of  your  good  pants." 

"  'Twouldn't  do  any  good  if  the  kerns  were  ripe," 
said  Bobaday,  turning  his  pepper-and-salt  trousers  up 
until  the  linings  showed.  "'1  his  farm  ain't  ours  now, 
and  we  couldn't  pull  them." 

Aunt  Corinne  paused  at  the  fennel  bed  :  then  she 

impulsively  stretched  forth  her  hand  and  gathered  it 
full. 

"I  set  out  these  things,"  said  aunt  Corinne,  "and 
I  ain't  countin'  them  sold  till  the  wagon  starts." 
So  she  gathered  sweetbrier,  and  a  leaf  of  sage  and 
two  or  three  pinks. 

"O  Bobaday,"  said  aunt  Corinne  —  this  name 
being  a  childish  corruption  of  Robert  Day:  for  aunt 
Corinne  was  two  years  younger  than  her  nephew,  and 
had  talked  baby  talk  \\hen  he  prided  himself  on  dis- 

brother   Tit 


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pose 


got 


jarden  like  this  at  the  new  place  ?     Oh,  the  pretty 


l*ll>ii<nii  ilMttli  — 


0 


THE    START. 


15 


little  primroses  !  Who'll  watch  them  pop  open  to-night  ? 
How  you  and  me  have  sat  on  the  primrose  bed  and 
watched  the  t-e-e-nty  buds  swell  and  swell  till  finally 
—  pop!  they  smack  their  lips  and  burst  wide  open  !" 

"  We'll  have  a  primrose  bed  out  West,"  said  Boba- 
day.  "  We'll  plant  sweet  anise  too,  and  have  caraway 
seeds  to  put  in  the  cakes.  Aunt  Krin,  did  you  know 
grandma's  goin'  to  have  green  kern  pie  when  we 
stop  for  dinner  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  knew  there  was  kern  pie  made,"  said  aunt  Krin. 
"  I  guess  we  better  get  into  the  carriage." 

She  held  her  short  dress  away  from  the  bushes, 
and  scampered  with  Bobaday  into  the  yard.  Here 
they  could  not  help  stopping  on  the  warped  floor  of 
the  porch  to  look  into  the  empty  house.  It  looked 
lonesome  already.  A  mouse  had  ventured  out  of  the 
closet  by  the  tall  sitting-room  mantel  ;  and  a  faint 
outline  of  the  clock's  shape  remained  on  the  wall. 

The  house  with  its  trees  was  soon  fading  into  the 
past.  The  neighbors  were  going  home  by  the  road 
or  across  fields.  Zene's  wagon,  drawn  by  the  old 
white  and  gray,  moved  ahead  at  a  good  pace.  It  was 
covered  with  while  canvas  drawn  tight  over  hoops 
which  were  held  by  iron  clamps  to  the  wagon-sides. 
At  the  front  opening  sat  Zene,  resting  his  feet  on  the 
tongue.     The  rear  opening  was  puckered  to  a  round 


i6 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


O  by  a  d/awing  string.  Swinging  to  and  fro  from 
the  hind  axle,  hung  the  tar-bucket.  A  feed  box  was 
fitted  across  th^  hind  end  of  the  wagon.  Such  stores 
as  might  be  piled  to  the  very  canvas  roof,  were  con- 
cealed from  sight  by  a  black  oilcloth  apron  hanging 
behind  Zene.  This  sheet  of  oilcloth  was  designed 
for  an  additional  roof  to  keep  the  goods  dry  when  it 
rained. 

Under  the  wagon,  keeping  well  away  from  the  tar- 
bucket,  trotted  Boswell  and  Johnson.  Bobaday 
named  them  ;  he  had  read  something  of  English 
literature  in  his  grandfather's  old  books.  Johnson 
was  a  fat  black  and  white  dog,  who  was  obliged  to 
keep  his  tongue  out  of  his  mouth  to  pant  during  the 
greater  part  cf  his  days.  He  had  fits  of  meditation, 
when  Boswell  galloped  all  over  him  without  provok- 
ing a  snap.  Johnson  was,  indeed,  a  most  amiable 
fellow,  and  had  gained  a  reputation  as  a  good  watch 
dog,  because  on  light  nights  he  barked  the  shining 
hours  away. 

Boswell  was  a  little  short-legged  dog,  built  like  a 
clumsy  weasel ;  for  his  body  was  so  long  it  seemed 
to  plead  for  six  legs  instead  of  four,  to  support  it, 
and  no  one  could  blame  his  back  for  swaying  a  little 
in  the  middle.  Boswell  was  a  brin(fled  dog.  He  had 
yellow  spots  like  pumpkin  seeds  over  his  eyes.     His 


THE    START. 


17 


affection  for  Johnson  was  extreme.  He  looked  up 
to  Johnson.  If  he  startled  a  bird  at  the  roadside,  or 
scratched  at  the  roots  of  a  tree  after  his  imagination, 
he  came  back  to  Johnson  for  approval,  wagging  his 
tail  until  it  made  his  whole  body  undulate.  Johnson 
sometimes  condescended  to  rub  a  nose  against  his 
silly  head,  and  this  threw  him  into  such  fits  of 
delight  that  he  was  obliged  to  get  out  of  the  wagon- 
track,  and  bark  around  himself  in  a  circle  until  the 
carriage  left  him  behind.  Then  he  came  up  to 
Johnson  again,  and  panted  along  beside  him,  with 
a  smile  as  open  and  constant  as  sunshine. 

No  such  caravan  as  the  Padgett  family  has  been 
seen  moving  West  since  those  days  when  all  the 
States  were  in  a  ferment :  when  New  York  and  the 
New  England  States  poured  into  Ohio,  and  Pennsyl- 
vania and  Ohio,  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  into 
Indiana,  Illinois,  and  even  —  as  a  desperate  venture, 
Missouri.  The  Old  National  Turnpike  was  then  a 
lively  thoroughfare.  Sometimes  a  dozen  white-covered 
wagons  stretched  along  in  company.  All  classes  of 
society  were  represented  among  the  movers.  Tiiere 
were  squalid  lots  to  be  avoided  as  thieves  :  and 
there  were  carriages  full  of  families  who  would  raise 
Senators,  Presidents,  and  large  financiers  in  their  new 
home.    The  forefathers  of  many  a  man  and  woman 


^mmmmmmmmmm 


i8 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


I  " 


now  abroad  studying  older  civilization  in  Europe, 
came  West  as  movers  by  the  wagon  route. 

Aunt  Corinne  and  her  nephew  were  glad  when 
Zene  drove  upon  the  'pike,  and  the  carriage  followed. 
The  'pike  had  a  solid  rumbling  base  to  ofifer  wheels. 
You  were  comparatively  in  town  while  driving  there, 
for  every  little  while  you  met  somebody,  and  that 
body  always  appeared  to  feel  more  important  for 
driving  on  the  'pike.  It  was  a  glittering  white  high- 
way; the  ruts  worn  by  wheels  were  literally  worn  in 
stone.  Yet  never  were  roadsides  as  green  as  the 
sloping  'pike  sides.  No  trees  encroached  very  close 
upon  it,  and  it  stretched  in  endless  glare.  But  how 
smoothly  you  bowled  along !  People  living  aside  in 
fields,  could  hear  your  progress  ;  the  bass  roar  of  the 
'pike  was  as  distinct,  though  of  course  not  as  loud, 
as  the  rumble  of  a  train. 

Going  through  Reynoldsburg,  however,  was  the 
great  triumphal  act  of  leave-taking.  The  Padgetts 
went  to  church  in  Reynoldsburg.  To-day  it  is  a 
decayed  village,  with  many  of  its  houses  leaning 
wearily  to  one  side,  or  forward  as  if  sinking  to  a  nap. 
But  then  it  was  a  lively  coach  town,  the  first  station 
out  from  the  capital  of  the  State. 

The  Reynoldsburgers  looked  forth  indifferently. 
They  saw  movers  every  hour  of  the  day.     But  with 


mi 


THE    STAGE    SWEPT    PAST    LIKE    A    KI.AStl. 


THE   START. 


31 


recognition  growing  in  their  faces,  many  of  them  hast- 
ened to  this  particuiai  carriage  for  parting  words 
with  grandma  Padgett  and  the  children.  Robert 
Day  set  up  against  the  high  back,  accepting  his 
tribute  of  envious  glances  from  the  boys  he  knew. 
He  was  going  off  to  meet  adventures.  They  had 
to  stay  at  home  and  saw  wood,  and  some  of  them 
would  even  be  obliged  to  split  it  when  they  had  a 
tin  box  full  of  bait  and  their  fish-poles  all  ready  for 
the  afternoon's  useful  employment.  There  had  been 
a  time  when  Robert  thought  he  would  not  like  to  be 
called  "  movers."  Some  movers  fell  entirely  below 
his  ideas.  But  now  he  saw  how  much  finer  it  was 
to  be  travelling  in  a  carriage  than  on  the  swift- 
shooting  cars.  He  felt  sorry  for  the  Reynoldsburg 
boys.  One  of  them  hinted  that  he  might  be  expected 
out  West  himself  some  day,  and  told  Robert  to  watch 
down  the  road  for  him.  He  appeared  to  think  the 
West  was  a  large  prairie  full  of  benches,  where  folks 
sat  down  and  told  their  adventures  in  coming. 

Bobaday  considered  his  position  in  the  carriage 
the  only  drawback  to  the  Reynoldsburg  parade.  He 
ought  to  be  driving.  In  the  course  of  the  journey  he 
hoped  grandma  Padgett  would  give  up  the  lines  — 
which  she  had  never  yet  done. 

They  drove  out  of  Reynoldsburg.    The  tin-covered 


aa 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


li 


Steeple  on  the  church  dazzled  their  eyes  for  perhaps 
the  last  time. 

Then  coming  around  a  curve  in  the  'pike  appeared 
that  soul-slirring  sight,  the  morning  stage  from  Colum- 
bus. Zene  and  grandma  Padgett  drew  off  to  the 
side  of  the  road  and  gave  it  a  wide  passage,  for  the 
stage  had  the  same  right  of  way  that  any  regular 
train  now  has  on  its  own  track.  It  was  drawn  by  six 
of  th(  proudest  horses  in  the  world,  and  the  grand- 
looking  driver  who  guided  them,  gripped  the  compli- 
cation of  lines  in  his  left  hand  while  he  held  a  horn 
to  his  mouth  with  the  right,  and  through  this  he  blew 
a  mellow  peal  to  let  the  Reynoldsburgers  know  the 
stage  was  coming.  The  stage,  billowing  on  springs, 
was  paneled  with  glittering  pictures,  gilded  on  every 
part,  and  evidently  lined  with  velvet.  Travellers 
inside  looked  through  the  open  windows  with  what 
aunt  Corinne  considered  an  air  of  opulent  pride.  She 
had  always  longed  to  explore  the  interior  of  a  stage, 
and  envied  any  child  who  had  been  shut  in  i3y  the 
mysterious  click  and  turn  of  the  door-handle.  The 
top  was  crowded  with  gentlemen  looking  only  less 
important  than  the  luxurious  passengers  inside :  and 
behind  on  a  vast  rack  was  such  a  mountain  of  baggage 
swaying  with  the  stage,  but  corded  firmly  to  place, 
and    tr.pped    with    bandboxes,    that    aunt   Corinne 


THE    START. 


aj 


believed  their  moving  wagon  would  not  have  contained 
it  all.  Yet  the  stage  swept  past  like  a  flash.  All  its 
details  had  to  be  gathered  by  a  quick  eye.  The 
leaders  flew  over  the  smooth  thoroughfare,  holding  up 
their  heads  like  horse  princes ;  and  Bobaday  knew 
what  a  bustle  Reynoldsburg  would  be  in  during  the 
few  minutes  that  the  stage  halted. 

After  viewing  this  sumptuous  pageant  the  little 
caravan  moved  briskly  on  toward  Columbus.  Zene 
kept  some  distance  ahead,  yet  always  in  sight. 
And  in  due  time  the  city  began  to  grow  around  them. 
The  'pike  never  lost  its  individuality  among  the 
streets  of  the  capital.  They  saw  the  great  peniten- 
tiary surrounded  by  stone  walls  as  thick  as  the  length 
of  a  short  boy.  They  saw  trains  of  cars  trailing  in 
and  out ;  manufactories,  and  vistas  of  fine  streets 
full  of  stores.  They  even  saw  the  capitol  building 
standing  high  up  on  its  shaded  grounds,  many  steps 
and  massive  pillars  giving  entrance  to  the  structure 
which  grandma  Padgett  said  was  one  of  the  finest  in 
the  United  States.  It  was  not  very  long  before  they 
reached  the  western  side  of  the  city  and  were  crossing 
the  Scioto  River  in  a  long  bridge  and  entering  what 
was  then  a  shabby  suburb  called  Frankfort.  At  this 
point  aunt  Corinne  and  her  nephew  entered  unbroken 
ground. 


•t 


CHAPTER  n. 

THE  LITTLE  OLD  MAN  WITH  A  BAG  ON  HIS  BACK. 

C"^  RANDMA  Padgett  had  prepared  the  noon  lunch 
^  that  very  day,  but  scarcely  expected  to  make  use 
of  it.  On  the  western  borders  of  Columbus  lived  a 
cousin  Padgett  in  such  a  country  place  as  had  long 
been  the  talk  of  the  entire  family  connection.  Cousin 
Padgett  was  a  mighty  man  in  the  city,  and  his  wife 
and  daughters  had  unheard-of  advantages.  He  had 
kept  up  a  formal  but  very  pleasant  intercourse  with 
grandma's  branch  ;  and  when  he  learned  at  the  State 
Fair,  the  year  previous,  her  son  Tip's  design  to  cast 
thoir  future  lots  in  the  West,  he  said  he  should  take  it 
very  ill  if  they  did  not  spend  the  first  night  of  their 
journey  with  him.  Grandma  Padgett  decided  that 
relationship  must  claim  her  for  at  least  one  meal. 

Bodaday   and    Corinne    saw   Zene    pause   at   the 
arched  gates  of  this  modern  castle,  according  to  his 

24 


•* 


THE   LITTLE   OLD   MAN. 


25 


morning's  instructionc.  Corinne's  heart  thumped 
apprehensively.  It  was  a  formidable  thing  to  be 
going  to  cousin  Padgett's.  He  lived  in  such  over- 
whelming grandeur.  She  knew,  although  she  had 
never  seen  his  grounds,  that  he  kept  two  gardeners 

on  purpose  to  take  care  of  them.  His  parlors  were 
covered  with  carpets  in  which  immense  bouquets  of 
flowers  were  wr^ought,  and  he  had  furniture  not  only 
of  horsehair,  but  of  flowered  red  velvet  also.  I  sup- 
pose in  these  days  cousin  Padgett's  house  would  be 
considered  the  extreme  of  expensive  ugliness,  and  a 
violation  of  all  laws  of  beauty.  But  it  was  the  besf 
money  could  buy  then,  and  that  was  considered 
enough.  Robert  was  not  affected  by  the  fluttering 
care  of  his  young  aunt.  He  wanted  to  see  this  seat 
of  grandeur.  And  when  Zene  walked  back  down  the 
avenue  from  making  inquiries,  and  announced  that 
the  entire  family  were  away  from  home,  Bobaday 
felt  a  shock  of  disappointment.  '      ' 

Cousin  Padgett  did  not  know  the  exact  date  of  the 
removal,  and  people  wrote  few  letters  in  those  days. 
So  he  could  not  be  blamed  for  his  absence  when  they 
came  by.  Zene  limped  up  to  his  seat  in  front  of  the 
wagon,  and  they  moved  forward  along  the  'pike. 

"Good  !  '•  breathed  aunt  Corinne,  settling  back. 

"  'Tisn't  good  a  bit !  "  said  Bobaday. 


26 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


And  whom  should  they  meet  in  a  few  miles  but 
cousin  Padgett  himself,  riding  horseback  and  le^iding 
a  cream-colored  horse  which  he  had  been  into  the 
country  to  purchase.  This  was  almost  as  trying  as 
taking  dinner  at  his  house.  He  insisted  that  the 
party  should  turn  back.  His  wife  and  daughters  had 
only  driven  into  the  city  that  morning.  Cousin  Pad- 
gett was  a  charming,  hearty  man,  with  a  ring  of 
black  whiskers  extending  under  his  face  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  the  more  he  talked  the  less  Corinne  feared 
him.  When  he  found  that  his  kinspeople  could  not 
be  prevailed  upon  to  return  with  him,  he  tied  up  his 
horses  to  the  wagon  in  the  wood-shed  where  Zene 
unhitched,  and  took  dinner  with  grandma  Padgett. 

Aunt  Corinne  sat  on  a  log  beside  him  and  ate 
currant  pie.  He  went  himself  to  the  nearest  house 
and  Drought  water.  And  when  a  start  was  made,  he 
told  the  children  he  still  expected  a  visit  from  them, 
and  put  as  a  parting  gift  a  gold  dollar  as  delicate  as 
an  old  three-cent  piece,  into  the  hand  of  each. 

Bobaday  felt  his  loss  when  the  cream-colored  horse 
could  no  longer  be  discerned  in  the  growing  distance. 
Grandma  Padgett  smiled  pleasantly  ahead  through 
her  blue  glasses :  she  had  received  the  parting  good 
wishes  of  a  kinsman  ;  family  ties  had  very  strong 
significance  when    this  country  was   newer.      Aunt 


THE   LITTLE   OLD   MAN. 


27 


Corinne  gazed  on  the  warm  gold  dollar  in  her 
palm,  and  was;ged  her  head  affectionately  over  it  for 
cousin  Padgett's  sake. 

The  afternoon  sun  sagged  so  low  it  stared  into 
grandma's  blue  spectacles  and  made  even  Corinne 
shelter  her  eyes.  Zene  drove  far  ahead  with  his  load 
to  secure  lodgings  for  the  night.  Having  left  behind 
the  last  acquaintance  and  entered  upon  the  realities 
of  the  journey,  grandma  considered  it  time  to  take 
off  her  Leghorn  bonnet  and  replace  it  with  the  brown 
barege  one  drawn  over  wire.  So  Bobaday  drew  out  a 
bandbox  from  under  the  back  seat  and  helped  grand- 
ma make  the  change.  The  seat-curtain  dropped  over 
the  Leghorn  in  its  bandbox ;  and  this  reminded  him 
that  there  were  other  things  beside  millinery  stowed 
away  in  the  carriage.  Playthings  could  be  felt  by 
an  appreciative  hand  thrust  under  the  seat ;  and  a 
pocket   in  the  side  curtain  was  also  stuffed. 

"  I  think  I'll  put  my  gold  money  in  the  bottom  of 
that  pocket,"  said  aunt  Corinne,  "just  where  I  can 
find  it  easy  every  day." 

She  drew  out  all  the  packages  and  dropped  it  in, 
and,  having  stuffed  the  pocket  again,  at  once  emptied 
it  to  see  that  her  piece  had  not  slipped  through  some 
ambushed  hole.  Aunt  Corinne  was  considered  a 
flighty  damsel  by  all  her  immediate  relatives  and  ac- 


7 


28 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


quaintances.  She  had  a  piquant  little  face  containing 
investigating  hazel  eyes.  Her  brown  hair  was  cut 
square  ofif  and  held  back  from  her  brow  by  a  round 
comb.  Her  skin  was  of  the  most  delicate  pink  color, 
flushing  to  rosy  bloom  in  her  cheeks.  She  was  a 
long,  lather  than  a  tall  girl,  with  slim  fingers  and  slim 
feet,  and  any  excitement  tingled  over  her  visibly,  so 
that  aunt  Corinne  was  frequently. all  of  a  quiver  about 
the  most  trivial  circumstances.  She  had  a  deep 
dimple  in  her  chin  and  another  at  the  right  side  of 
her  mouth,  and  her  nose  tipped  just  enough  to  give 
all  the  lines  of  her  face  a  laughing  look. 

But  this  laughing  look  ran  ludicrously  into  conster- 
iialion  when,  twisting  away  from  the  prospect  ahead, 
she  happened  to  look  suddenly  backward  under  the" 
looped-up  curtain,  and  saw  a  head  dodging  down. 
Somebody  was  hanging  to  the  rear  of  the  carriage. 

Aunt  Corinne  kneeled  on  the  cushion  and  stretched 
her  neck  and  eyes  out  over  a  queer  little  old  man, 
who  seemed  to  carry  a  bunch  of  some  kind  on  his 
back.  He  had  been  running  noiselessly  behind  the 
carriage,  occasionally  hanging  by  his  arms,  and  he 
was  taking  one  of  these  swings  when  his  dodging 
eyes  met  hers,  and  he  let  go,  rolling  in  the  'pike  dust. 

"You  better  let  go!"  scolded  aunt  Corinne. 
"  Bob'day,  there's  a  beggar  been  hangin'  on !     Ma 


A  QUEER   LITTLE   OLO   MAN. 


ii     k 


.     V 


THE    LITTLE   OLD    MAN. 


3» 


Padgett,  a  little  old  man  with  a  bag  on  his  back  was 
goin'  to  climb  into  this  carriage  ! " 

"  'Tisn't  a  bag,"  said  Bobaday  laughing,  for  the 
little  old  man  looked  funny  brushing  the  dust  off  his 
ragged  knees. 

"'7>jabag,  "  said  aunt  Corinne,  "and  he  ought 
to  hurt  himself  for  scarin'  us." 

"There's  no  danger  of  his  doing  us  harm,"  said 
grandma  Padgett  mildly,  after  she  had  leaned  out  at 
the  side  and  brought  her  blue  glasses  to  bear  upon 
the  lessening  figure  of  the  little  old  man. 

Yet  Ccrinne  watched  him  when  he  sat  down  on  a 
bank  to  rest ;  she  watched  him  grow  a  mere  bunch 
and  battered  hat,  and  then  fade  to  a  speck. 

The  'pike  was  the  home  of  such  creatures  as  he 
appeared  to  be.  The  advance  guard  of  what  after- 
wards became  an  army  of  tramps,  was  then  just 
beginning  to  move.  But  they  were  few,  and,  whether 
they  asked  help  or  not,  were  always  known  by  the 
disreputable  name  of  "  beggars."  A  beggar-man  or 
beggar-woman  represented  to  the  minds  of  aunt 
Corinne  and  her  nephew  such  possible  enemies  as 
chained  lions  or  tigers.  If  an  "old  beggar"  got  a 
chance  at  you  there  was  no  telling  in  what  part  of  the 
world  !ie  would  make  merchandise  of  you !  They 
always  suspected   the   beggar  boys   and  girls  were 


i 


3a 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


kidnapped  children.  While  it  was  desirable  to  avoid 
these  people,  it  was  even  more  desirable  that  a  little 
girl  should  not  offend  them. 

Aunt  Corinne  revolved  in  her  mind  the  remark 
she  had  made  to  the  little  old  man  with  a  bag  on  his 
back.  She  could  take  no  more  pleasure  in  the  views 
along  the  'pike ;  for  she  almost  expected  to  see  him 
start  out  of  a  culvert  to  give  her  cold  shivers  with  his 
revengeful  grimaces.  The  culverts  were  solid  arches 
of  masonry  which  carried  the  'pike  unbroken  in  even 
a  line  across  the  many  runs  and  brooks.  The  tunnel 
of  the  culvert  was  regarded  by  most  children  as  the 
befitting  lair  of  beggars,  who  perhaps  would  not 
object  to  standing  knee-deep  in  water  with  their  heads 
against  a  slimy  arch. 

"This  is  the  very  last  culvert,"  sighed  Corinne, 
relieved,  as  they  rumbled  across  one  and  entered  the 
village  where  they  were  to  stop  over  night. 

It  was  already  dusk.  The  town  dogs  were  begin- 
ning to  bark,  and  the  candles  to  twinkle.  Zene's 
wagon  was  unhitched  in  front  of  the  tavern,  and  this 
signified  that  the  carriage-load  might  confidently 
expect  entertainment.  The  tavern  was  a  sprawled- 
out  house,  with  an  arch  of  glass  panes  over  the 
entrance  door.  A  fat  post  stood  in  front  of  it,  uphold- 
ing a  swinging  sign. 


THE   LirrLE   OLD   MAN. 


33 


The  tavern-keeper  came  out  of  the  door  to  meet 
them  when  they  stopped,  and  helped  his  guests  alight, 
while  a  hostler  stood  ready  to  lead  the  horses  away. 

Aunt  Corinne  sprung  down  the  steps,  glad  of  the 
change  after  the  day's  ride,  until,  glancing  down  the 
'pike  over  their  late  route,  she  saw  tramping  toward 
the  tavern  that  little  old  man  with  a  bag  on  his  back. 


il       ' 


III 


CHAPTER  IIT. 


THE   TAVERN. 


BIFT  the  little  old  man  with  a  bag  on  his  back 
was  left  out  in  the  dusk,  and  aunt  Corinne  and 
her  party  went  inio  the  tavern  parlor.  The  landlady 
brought  a  pair  of  candles  in  brass  candlesticks,  set- 
ting one  on  each  end  of  the  mantel.  Between  them 
were  snuffers  on  a  snuffer-tray,  and  a  tall  mass  of 
paper  roses  under  a  glass  case.  The  fireplace  was 
covered  by  a  fireboard  on  which  was  pasted  wall- 
paper like  that  adorning  the  room.  Grandma  Padgett 
sat  down  in  a  rocking  settee,  and  Corinne  and  Boba- 
day  on  two  of  the  chairs  ranged  in  solemn  rows 
along  the  wall.  They  felt  it  would  be  presumption 
to  pull  those  chairs  an  inch  out  of  line. 

It  was  a  very  depressing  room.  Two  funeral  urns 
hung  side  by  side,  done  in  India  ink,  and  framed  in 
chipped-off  m:*.hogany.  Weeping  willows  hung  over 
the  urns,  and  a  weeping  woman  leaned  on  each. 
There  was   also   a  picture  of   Napoleon   in  scarlet 

34 


THE    TAVKRN. 


35 


standing  on  the  green  rock  of  St.  Helena,  holding  a 
yellow  three-cornered  hat  under  his  elbow.  The 
house  had  a  fried-potato  odor,  to  which  aunt  Corinne 
did  not  object.  She  was  hungry.  But,  besides  this, 
the  parlor  enclosed  a  dozen  other  scents;  as  if  the 
essences  of  all  the  dinners  served  in  the  house  were 
sitting  around  invisible  on  the  chairs.  There  was 
not  lacking  even  that  stale  cupboard  smell  which  is 
the  spirit  of  hunger  itself. 

The  landlady  was  very  fat  and  red  and  also  melan- 
choly. She  began  talking  at  once  to  Grandma  Pad- 
gett about  the  loss  of  her  children  whom  the  funeral 
urns  commemorated,  and  Grandma  Padgett  sympa- 
thized with  her  and  tried  to  outdo  her  in*  sorrowful 
experiences.  But  this  was  impossible  ;  for  the  land- 
lady had  lived  through  more  ordeals  than  anybody 
else  in  town,  and  her  manner  said  plainly,  that  no 
passing  stranger  should  carry  off  her  championship. 

So  she  made  the  dismal  room  so  doleful  with  her 
talk  that  aunt  Corinne  began  to  feel  terribly  about 
life,  and  Robert  Day  wished  he  had  gone  to  the  barn 
with  Zene. 

Then  the  supper-bell  rung,  and  the  landlady  showed 
them  into  the  big  bare  dining-room  where  she  forgot 
all  her  troubles  in  the  clatter  of  plates  and  cups. 
A  company  of  men  rushed  from  what  was  called  the 


I 


36 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


bar-room,  though  its  shelves  and  counter  were 
empty  of  decanters  and  glasses.  They  had  the 
greater  part  of  a  long  table  to  themselves,  and  Zene 
sat  among  them.  These  men  the  landlady  called  the 
boarders  ;  she  placed  Grandma  Padgett's  family  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table  ;  it  seemed  the  decorous 
thing  to  her  that  a  strip  of  empty  table  should  sepa- 
rate the  boarders  and  women-folks. 

There  were  stacks  of  eatables,  including  mango 
stuffed  with  cabbage  and  eggs  pickled  red  in  beet 
vinegar.  All  sorts  of  fruit  butters  and  preserves 
stood  about  in  glass  and  earthen  dishes.  One  end  of 
the  table  was  an  exact  counterpart  of  the  other,  even 
to  the  stacks  of  mighty  bread-slices.  Boiled  cabbage 
and  onions  and  thick  corn-pone  with  fried  ham  were 
there  to  afford  a  strong  support  through  the  night's 
fast.  Nothing  was  served  in  order :  you  helped 
yourself  from  the  dishes  or  let  them  alone  at  your 
pleaspr- .  Thf,  landlord  appeared  just  as  jolly  as  his 
wife  was  dismal.  He  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table  and  urged  everybody  with  jokes  to  eat  heartily ; 
yet  all  this  profusion  was  not  half  so  appetizing 
as  some  of  Grandma  Padgett's  fried  chicken  and 
toast  would  have  been. 

After  supper  Bobaday  went  out  to  the  barn  and 
saw  a  whole  street  of  horse-stalls,  the  farthest  horse 


THE   TAVERN. 


37 


switching  his  tail  in  dim  distance ;  and  such  a  mow 
of  hay  as  impressed  him  with  the  advantages  of 
travel.  A  hostler  was  forking  down  hay  for  the  even- 
ing's feeding,  and  Robert  climbed  to  his  side,  upon 
which  the  hostler  good-naturedly  took  him  by  the 
shoulders  and  let  him  slide  dov/n  and  alight  upon  the 
spongy  pile  below.  This  would  have  been  a  delight- 
ful sensation  had  Bobaday  not  bitten  his  tongue  in  the 
dcsciint.  But  he  liked  it  better  than  the  house  where 
his  aunt  Corinne  wandered  uneasily  up  stairs  which 
were  hollowed  in  the  middle  of  each  step,  and  along 
narrow  passages  where  bits  of  plaster  had  fallen  off. 
There  was  a  dulcimer  in  the  room  aunt  Corinne 
occupied  with  her  mother.  She  took  the  hammer 
and  beat  on  its  rusty  wires  some  time  before  going  to 
bed.  It  tinkled  a  plea  to  her  to  let  it  alone,  but 
what  little  girl  could  look  at  the  queer  instrument  and 
keep  her  hands  off  it  ?  The  landlady  said  it  was  left 
there  by  a  travelling  showman  who  could  not  pay  his 
board.  He  hired  the  bar-room  to  give  a  concert  in, 
and  pasted  up  written  advertisements  of  his  perform- 
ance in  various  parts  of  the  town.  He  sent  free 
tickets  to  the  preacher  and  schoolrr\aster,  and  the 
landlord's  family  went  in  for  nothing.  Nobody  else 
came,  though  he  played  on  the  flute  and  harmonium, 
besides  the  dulcimer,  and  sang  Lilly  Dale,  and  Roll 


'» 


I  ■ 


i    H 


38 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


on,  Silver  Mooti,  so  touchingly  that  the  landlady  wiped 
her  eyes  at  their  mere  memory.  As  he  had  no 
money  to  pay  stage-fare  further,  and  the  flute  and 
harmonium  —  a  small  bellows  organ  without  legs  — 
were  easier  to  carry  than  the  dulcimer,  he  left  it  and 
trudged  eastward.  And  no  one  at  that  tavern  could 
tell  whether  he  and  his  instruments  had  perished 
piecemeal  along  the  way,  or  whether  he  had  found 
crowded  houses  and  forgotten  the  old  dulcimer  in  the 
tide  of  prosperity. 

Grandma  Padgett's  party  ate  breakfast  before  day, 
by  the  light  of  a  candle  covering  its  candlestick  with 
a  tallow  glacier.  It  made  only  a  hole  of  shine  in  the 
general  duskiness  of  the  big  dining-room.  The  land- 
lady bade  them  a  pathetic  good-by.  She  was  sure 
there  were  dangers  ahead  of  them.  The  night  stage 
had  got  in  three  hours  late,  ov/ing  to  a  breakdown, 
and  one  calamity  she  said,  i^  only  the  forerunner  of 
another.  - 

Zene  had  driven  ahead  with  the  load.  It  was  a 
foggy  morning,  and  drops  of  moisture  hung  to  the 
carriage  curtains.  There  was  the  morning  star  yet 
trembling  over  the  town.  Aunt  Corinne  hugged  her 
wrap,  and  Bobaday  stuck  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets.  But  Grandma  sat  erect  and  drove  away 
undaunted  and  undamped.     She  merely  searched  the 


fill 


THE  TAVERN. 


39 


inside  of  the  carriage  with  her  glasses,  inquiring  as  a 
last  precaution  : 

"  Have  we  left  anything  behind  ?  " 

"  I  got  all  my  things/'  said  Robert.     "  And  my 
gold  dollar's  in  my  pocket." 

At  this  aunt  Corinne  arose  and  plunged  into  the 
carriage  pocket  on  her  side. 


I 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  SUSAN  HOUSE. 


THE  contents  of  that  pocket  she  piled  upon  her 
seat;  she  raked  the  interior  with  her  nails, 
then  she  looked  at  Robert  Day  with  dilating  eyes. 

'"'■My  gold  dollar's  gone!"  said  aunt  Corinne. 
"That  little  old  man  with  a  bag  on  his  back — I  just 
know  he  got  into  the  barn  and  took  it  last  night." 

*'  You  put  it  in  and  took  it  out  so  many  times  yes- 
terday," said  Bobaday,  *'  maybe  it  fell  on  the  carriage 
floor."  So  they  unavailingly  searched  the  carriage 
floor. 

The  little  old  man  with  a  bag  on  his  back  was  now 
fixed  in  Corinne's  imagination  as  the  evil  genius  of 
the  journey.  If  he  spirited  out  her  gold  dollar,  what 
harm  could  he  not  do  them  !  He  might  throw  stones 
at  them  from  sheltered  places,  and  even  shoot  them 
with  guns.     He  could  jump  out  of  any  culvert  and 

scare  them   almost  to  death  !     This  destroyed  half 

40 


THE   SUSAN   HOUSE. 


41 


her  pleasure  as  the  clay  advanced,  in  watching  boys 
fish  with  horse-hair  snares  in  the  runs  which  trickled 
under  culverts.  But  Robert  felt  so  much  interest  in 
the  process  that  he  was  glad  to  hctve  the  noon  halt 
made  near  such  a  small  fishing-place.  He  took  his 
lunch  and  sat  on  the  bank  with  the  boys.  They 
were  very  dirty,  and  one  of  them  had  his  shirtsleeve 
split  to  the  shoulder,  revealing  a  sun-blistered  elbow 
joint  that  still  worked  with  a  right  good  will  at  snar- 
ing. But  no  boys  were  ever  fuller  of  out-door  wis- 
dom. They  had  been  swimming,  and  knew  the  best 
diving-hole  in  the  world,  only  a  couple  of  miles  away. 
They  had  dined  on  berries,  and  expected  to  catch  it 
when  they  got  home,  but  meant  to  attend  a  show  in 
one  of  their  barns  that  afternoon,  the  admission 
price  being  ten  pins.  Bobaday  learned  how  to  make 
a  slip-knot  with  the  horse-hair  and  hold  it  in  silent 
suspense  just  where  the  minnows  moved  :  the  moment 
a  fish  glided  into  the  open  snare  a  dexterous  jerk 
whipped  him  out  of  the  water,  held  firmly  about  the 
middle  by  the  hair  noose.  It  requirea  skill  and  nice 
handling,  and  the  split-sleeved  boy  was  the  most  ac- 
complished snarer  of  all. 

Robert  shared  his  lunch  with  these  youths,  and 
parted  from  them  reluctantly  when  the  horses  were 
put  in.     But  aunt  Corinne  who  stood  by  in  a  critical 


I 


fl 


42 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


attitude,  said  she  couldn't  see  any  use  in  catching 
such  little  fish.     You  never  fried  minnies.     You  used 


3?  Vl.?'' 

llOiiADAY    LUNCHliS    WITH    STRANGE    bOVS. 


'■M. 


If    \\ 


'em  for  bait  in  deep  water,  though,  the  split-sleeved 
boy  condescended  to  inform  her,  and  you  conld  put 
'em  into  a  glass  jar,  and  they'd  grow  like  everything. 


THE   SUSAN    HOUSE. 


43 


Aunt  Corinne  was  just  becoming  nred  with  anxiety  to 
own  such  a  jarful  herself,  v;hen  the  carriage  turned 
toward  the  road  and  her  mother  obliged  her  to  climb 
in.  ■''"' 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Zene  halted  and 
waited  for  the  carriage  to  come  up.  He  left  his  seat 
and  came  to  the  rear  of  Old  Hickory,  the  off  carriage 
horse,  slapping  a  fly  flat  on  Old  Hickory's  flank  as 
he  paused.      ;  v; 

"  What's  the  matter,  Zene  ?  "  inquired  Grandma 
Padgett.     "  Has  anything  happened?" 

"No,   marm,"   replied   Zene.      He    was   a   quiet, 

singular  fellow,  halting  in  his  walk  on  account  of  the 
unevenness  of  his  legs ;  but  faithful  to  the  family  as 
either  Boswell  or  Johnson.  Grandma  Padgett  hav- 
ing brought  him  up  from  a  lone  and  forsaken  child, 
relied  upon  all  the  good  qualities  she  discovered 
from  time  to  time,  and  she  saw  nothing  ludicrous  in 
Zene.  But  aunt  Corinne  and  Bobaday  never  ceased 
to  titter  at  Zene's  "marm." 

"  I've  been  inquirin'  along,  and  we  can  turn  off  of 
the  'pike  up  here  at  the  first  by-road,  and  then  take 
the  first  cross-road  west,  and  save  thirty  mile  o'  toll 
gates.  The  road  goes  the  same  direction,  it's  a 
good  dirt  road." 

Grandma  Padgett  puckered  the  brows  above  her 


'III 


44 


OLD   CARAVAN   DAYS. 


glasses 


pay    unnecessary 


it     I 


She    did    not    want    to 
bounty  to  the  toll-rate  keepers. 

"  Well,  that's  a  good  plan,  Zene,  if  you're  sure  we 
won't  lose  the  way,  or  fall  into  any  dif-fick-ulty." 

"  I've  asked  nigh  a  dozen  men,  and  they  all  tell 
the  same  tale,"  said  Zene. 

"  People  ought  to  know  the  lay  of  the  land  in  their 
own  neighborhood,"  admitted  Grandma  Padgett. 
"  Well,  we'll  try  what  virtue  there  is  in  the  dirt 
road."  ^  ^ 

So  she  clucked  to  the  carriage  horses  and  Zene 
went  back  to  his  charge.  ' 

The  last  toll-gate  they  would  see  for  thirty  miles 
drew  its  pole  down  before  them.  Zene  paid  accord- 
ing to  the  usual  arrangement,  and  the  toll-man  only 
stood  in  the  door  to  see  the  carriage  pass. 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  live  In  a  little  bit  of  a  house 
sticking  out  on  the  'pike  like  tiaat,"  said  aunt  Cor- 
inne  to  her  nephew.  "  Folks  could  run  against  it  on 
dark  nights.  Does  he  stay  there  by  himself  ?  And 
if  robbers  or  old  beggars  came  by  they  could  nab 
him  the  minute  he  opened  his  door." 

"  But  if  he  has  any  boys,"  suggested  Robert  look- 
ing back,  "  they  can  see  everybody  pass,  and  it'd  be 


just  as  good  as 


gomg  some 
who's  afraid  of  robbers  !" 


place  all  the  time.      And 


THE   SUSAN    HOUSE. 


45 


Zene  beckoned  to  the  carriage  as  he  turned  off  the 
'pike.  For  a  distance  the  wagon  moved  ahead  of 
them,  between  tall  stake  fences  which  were  overrun 
with  vines  or  had  their  corners  crowded  with  bushes. 
Wheat  and  cornfields  and  sweet-smelling  buckwheat 
spread  out  on  each  side  unti'  the  woods  met  them, 
and  not  a  bit  of  the  afternoon  heat  touched  the  car- 
riage after  that.  Aunt  Corinne  clasped  a  leather- 
covered  upright  which  hurt  her  hand  before,  and 
leaned  toward  the  trees  on  her  side.  Every  new 
pijce  of  woodland  it  an  unexplored  country  contain- 
ing moss-lined  stumps,  dimples  of  hollows  full  of 
mint,  queer-shaped  trees,  and  hickory  saplings  just 
the  right  saddle-curve  for  bending  down  as  "  teeters," 
such  as  are  never  reproduced  in  an/  other  piece  of 
woodland.  Nature  does  not  make  two  trees  alike, 
and  her  cool  breathing-halls  under  the  woods'  cano- 
pies are  as  diverse  as  the  faces  of  children  wander- 
ing there.  Moss  or  lichens  grow  thicker  in  one 
spot ;  another  particular  enclosure  you  call  the  lily 
or  the  bloodroot  woods,  and  yet  another  the  wild- 
grape  woods.  This  is  distinguished  for  blackberries 
away  up  in  the  clearings,  and  that  is  a  fishing  woods, 
where  the  limbs  stretch  down  to  clear  holes,  and  you 
sit  in  a  root  seat  and  hear  springs  trickling  down  the 
banks  while  you  fish.    Though  Corinne  could  possess 


f 


( 


i 

i  j           I 

ii 

i! 

46 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


these  reaches  of  trees  only  with  a  brief  survey,  she 
enjoyed  them  as  a  novelty. 

"  I  would  like  to  get  lost  in  the  woods,"  she  ob- 
served, "  and  have  everybody  out  hunting  me  while  I 
had  to  eat  berries  and  roots.  I  don't  believe  I'd  like 
roots,  though  :  they  look  so  big  and  tough.  And  I 
wouldn't  touch  a  persimmon !  Nor  Injun  turnip. 
You's  a  bad  boy  that  time  you  give  me  Injun  turnip 
to  eat,  Bobaday  Padgett !  " 

She  turned  upon  her  nephew,  fierce  with  the  recol- 
lection, and  he  laughed,  saying  he  wished  he'd  some 
to  fool  somebody  with  now. 

"  It  bit  my  mouth  so  a  whole  crock  of  milk 
wouldn't  help  it,  and  if  brother  Tip'd  been  home, 
Ma  Padg-tt  wouldn't  let  you  off  so  easy." 

"You  wanted  to  taste  it,"  said  Robert.  "And 
you'd  eat  the  green  persimmons  if  they'd  puckered 
your  mouth  clear  shut." 

"  I  wanted  to  see  what  the  things  that  the  little  pig 
that  lived  in  the  stone  house  filled  his  churn  with, 
tasted  like,"  admitted  aunt  Corinne  lucidly;  so  she 
subsided. 

"  Do  you  see  the  wagon,  children  ? "  inquired 
Grandma  Padgett,  who  felt  the  necessity  of  follow- 
ing Zene's  lead  closely.  She  stopped  Old  Hickory 
and  Old  Henry  at  cross-roads. 


THE    SUSAN    HOUSE. 


47 


"  No ;  but  he  said  turn  west  on  the  first  road  we 
came  to,"  counseled  Bobaday. 

"  And  this  is  the  first,  I  counted,"  said  aunt 
Corinne. 

"I  wish  we  could  see  the  cover  ahead  of  us.  We 
don't  want  to  resk  gettin'  separated,"  said  Grandma 
Padgett. 

Yet  she  turned  the  horses  westward  with  a  degree 
of  confidence,  and  drove  up  into  a  hilly  country 
which  soon  hid  the  sun.  The  long  shades  crept 
past  and  behind  them.  There  was  a  country  church, 
with  a  graveyard  full  of  white  stones  nearly  smoth- 
ered in  grass  and  briers.  And  there  was  a  school- 
house  in  an  open  space,  with  a  playground  beaten 
bare  and  white  in  the  midst  of  a  yellow  mustard 
jungle.  They  saw  some  loiterers  creeping  home, 
carrying  dinner-pail  and  basket,  and  taking  a  languid 
last  tag  of  each  other.  The  little  girls  looked  up  at  the 
passing  carriage  frona  their  sunbonnet  depths,  but  the 
boys  had  taken  oflf  their  hats  to  slap  each  other  with  : 
they  looked  at  the  strangers,  round-eyed  and  ready 
to  smile,  and  Robert  and  Corinne  nodded.  Grand- 
ma Padgett  bethought  herself  to  ask  if  any  of  them 
had  seen  ?i  moving  wagon  pass  that  way.  The  girls 
stared  bashfully  at  each  other  and  said  "No,  ma'am," 
but  the  boys  affirmed  strongly  that  they  had  seen  two 


WWBHW ■ 


48 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


! 


ii 


moving  wagons  go  by,  one  just  as  school  was  out, 
and  the  boldest  boy  of  all  made  an  effort  to  remem- 
ber the  white  and  gray  horses. 

The  top  of  a  hill  soon  stood  between  these  children 
and  the  travellers,  but  in  all  the  vista  beyond  there 
was  no  glimpse  of  Zene. 

Grandma  Padgett  felt  apxious,  and  her  anxiety  in- 
creased as  the  dusk  thickened. 

"  T'.iere  don't  seem  to  be  any  taverns  along  this 
road,"  she  said;  "and  I  hate  to  ask  at  any  farmer's 
for  accommodations  over  night.  We  don't  know  the 
neighborhood,  and  a  body  hates  to  be  a  bother." 

"  Let's  camp  out,"  volunteered  Bobaday. 

"  We'd  need  the  cover  off  of  the  wagon  to  do  that, 
and  kittles,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  "and  dried 
meat  and  butter  and  cake  and  things  out  of  the 
wagon." 

"  Maybe  Zene's  back  in  the  woods  campin'  some- 
where," exclaimed  aunt  Corinne.  "  And  he  has  his 
gun,  and  can  shoot  birds  too." 

"  No,  he's  goin'  along  the  right  road  and  expectin' 
us  to  follow.  And  as  like  as  not  has  found  a  place 
to  put  up,  while  we're  off  on  the  wrong  road." 

"  How'll  we  ever  get  to  brother  Tip's,  then  ?  "  pro- 
pounded aunt  Corinne.  "  Maybe  we're  in  Missouri, 
or  Iowa,  and  won't  never  get  to  the  Illinois  line  I  " 


THE  SUSAN    HOUSE. 


49 


"  Humph  !  "  remarked  Robert  her  nephew  ;  "  do 
you  s'pose  folks  could  go  to  Iowa  or  Missouri  as 
quick  as  this!  Cars'd  have  to  put  on  steam  to  do 
it." 

"And  I  forgot  about  the  State  lines,"  murmured 
his  aunt.  "The'  hasn't  been  any  ropes  stretched 
along  't  /  saw." 

"  They  don't  bound  States  with  ropes,  '  said  Robert 
Day. 

"Well,  it's  lines,"  insisted  aunt  Corinne. 

"  Do  you  make  out  a  house  off  there  .-' "  questioned 
Grandma  Padgett,  shortening  the  discussion. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  and  it's  a  tavern,"  assured  her  grand- 
son, kneeling  upon  the  cushion  beside  her  to  stretch 
his  neck  forward. 

It  was  a  tavern  in  a  sandy  valley.  It  was  lighting 
a  cautious  candle  or  two  as  they  approached.  A 
farmer  was  watering  his  team  at  the  trough  under  the 
pump  spout.  All  the  premises  had  a  look  of  Hol- 
land, which  Grandma  Padgett  did  not  recognize :  she 
only  thought  them  very  clean.  There  was  a  side 
door  cut  across  the  centre  like  the  doors  of  mills,  so 
that  the  upper  part  swung  open  while  the  lower  part 
remained  shut.  A  fat  white  woman  leaned  her 
elbows  upon  this,  scarcely  observing  the  travellers. 

Grandma  Padgett  paused  at  the  front  of  the  house 


50 


OLD  CA'^     MN   DAYS. 


and  waited  for  somebody  to  come  out.  The  last 
primrose  color  c'ed  slowly  out  of  the  Lky.  If  the 
tavern  had  any  proprietor,  he  combined  farming  with 
tavern  keeping.  His  hay  and  wheat  fields  came 
close  to  the  garden,  and  his  corn  stood  rank  on  rank 
up  the  hills. 

"They  must  be  all  asleep  in  there,"  fretted  Grand- 
ma Padgett.  The  woman  with  her  arms  over  the 
half  door  had  not  stirred. 

'*  Shall  I  run  in  ?  "  said  Bobaday. 

"  Yes,  and  ask  if  Zene  stopped  here.  ^on't  see 
a  sign  of  the  wagon."  ^ 

Her  grandson  opened  the  carriage  door  and  ran 
down  the  steps.  The  white-scrubbed  hall  detained 
him  several  minutes  before  he  returned  with  a  large 
man  who  smoked  a  crooked-stemmed  pipe  during  the 
conference.  The  man  held  the  bowl  of  the  pipe  in 
his  hand  which  was  fat  and  red.  So  was  his  face. 
He  had  a  mighty  tuft  of  hair  on  his  upper  lip.  His 
shirt  sleeves  shone  like  new  snow  through  the  dark. 

"  Goot  efenins,"  he  said  very  kindly. 

"  I  want  to  stop  here  over  night,"  said  Grandma 
Padgett.  "We're  moving,  and  our  wagon  is  some- 
where on  this  road.  Have  you  seen  anything  of  a 
wagon  —  and  a  white  and  a  gray  horse  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  tavern  keeper,   nodding  his 


i! 


ill 


THE  SUSAN    HOUSE. 


s« 


head.    "  Dere  is  lots  of  wakkons  on  de  road  aheadt." 

"Well,  we  can't  go  further  ourselves.  Can  you 
take  the  lines  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nein,"  said  the  tavern-keeper  mildly.  "  I 
don't  keep  moofers  mit  my  house.  Dey  goes  a  little 
furtei-." 

"  You  don't  keep  movers  ! "  said  Grandma  Padgett 
indignantly.     "  What's  your  tavern  for  ? " 

"  Oh,  yah,"  replied  the  host  with  undisturbed  benev- 
olence.    "  Dey  p   es  a  little  furter." 

"  Why  have  you  put  out  a  sign  to  mislead  folks  ?  " 

The  tavern  keeper  took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth 
to  look  up  at  his  sign.  It  swayed  back  and  forth  in 
the  valley  breeze,  as  if  itself  expostulating  with 
him. 

*' Dot's  a  goot  sign,"  he  pronounced.  "Auf  you 
go  up  te  hill,  tere  ist  te  house  I  put  up  mit  te  moof- 
ers. First  house.  All  convenient.  You  sthay  tere. 
I  coom  along  in  te  mornin'.  Tere  ist  more  as  feefty 
famblies  sthop  mit  tat  house.  "  Oh,  nien,  I  don't 
keep  moofers  mit  te  tafern." 

"  This  is  a  queer  way  to  do,"  said  Grandma  Pad- 
gett, fixing  the  full  severity  of  her  glasses  on  him. 
"Turn  a  woman  and  two  children  away  to  harbor 
as  well  as  they  can  in  some  old  barn  !  I'll  not  stop  in 
your  house  on  the  hill.     Who'd  'tend  to  the  horses  ? " 


52 


OLD   CARAVAN   DAYS. 


! 


'n    I'l 


II! 


i 


|!     :. 


"  Tare  ist  grass  and  water,"  said  the  landlord  as 
she  turned  from  his  door.  "  And  more  a?  feefty 
famblies  hast  put  up  tere.  I  don't  keep  moofers  mit 
te  tafern." 

Robert  and  Corinne  felt  very  homeless  as  she 
drove  at  a  rattling  pace  down  the  valley.  They  were 
hungry,  and  upon  ah  unknown  road ;  and  that  inhos- 
pitable tavern  had  turned  them  away  like  vagrants. 

"  We'll  drive  all  night  before  we'll  «;top  in  his  mov- 
ers' pen,"  saiJ.  Grandma  Padgett  with  her  well-known 
decision.  "  I  suppose  he  calls  every  vagabond  that 
comes  along  a  mover,  and  his  own  house  is  too  clean 
for  such  gentry.  I've  heard  about  the  Swopes 
and  the  Dutch  being  stupid,  but  a  body  has  to  travel 
before  they  know." 

But  well  did  ihe  Dutch  landlord  know  the  persua- 
sion of  his  house  on  the  hill  after  luckless  travellers 
had  passed  through  a  stream  which  drained  the  val- 
ley. This  was  narrow  enough,  but  the  very  banks 
had  a  caving,  treacherous  look.  Grandma  Padgett 
drove  in,  and  the  carriage  came  down  with  a  plunge 
on  the  flanks  of  Old  Hickory  and  Old  Henry,  and 
they  disappeared  to  their  nostrils  and  the  harness 
strips  along  the  centre  of  their  backs. 

"  Hasn't  the  creek  any  bottom  ? "  cried  Grandma 
Padgcwt,  while  Corinne  and  Robert  clung  to  the  set- 


f!i 


n 


7)         .—---: 


■;16! 


^K 


1 


% 


THE   SUSAN    HOUSE. 


55 


tling  carriage.  The  water  poured  across  their  feet 
and  rose  up  to  their  knees.  Hickory  and  Henry  were 
urged  with  whip  and  cry.  ,      v  . 

"  Hold  fast,  children  !  Don't  get  swept  out  !  " 
Grandma  Padgett  exhorted.  "  There's  no  danger  if 
the  horses  can  climb  the  bank." 

They  were  turned  out  of  their  course  by  the  cur- 
rent, and  Hickory  and  Henry  got  their  fore  feet  out, 
crumbling  a  steep  place.  Below  the  bank  grew 
steeper.  If  they  did  not  get  out  here,  all  must  go 
whirling  and  sinking  down  stream.  The  landing  was 
made,  both  horses  leaping  up  as  if  from  an  abyss. 
The  carriage  cracked,  and  when  its  wheels  once 
more  ground  the  dry  sand.  Grandma  Padgett  trem- 
bled awhile,  and  n  oved  her  lips  before  replying  to 
the  children's  exclamations. 

"  We've  been  delivered  from  a  great  danger,"  she 
said.  "  And  that  miserable  man  let  ih  irive  into  it 
without  warning  ! " 

"If  I's  big  enough,"  said  Roben  Day,  "I'd  go 
back  and  thrash  him."  '  •     . 

"  It  ill  becomes  us,"  rebuked  Grandma  Padgett,  "to 
give  place  to  wrath  after  escaping  from  peril.     But  if 
this  is  the  trap  he  sets  for  his  house  on  the  hill,  I  hope 
he  has  been  caught  in  it  himself  sometime  !  " 
.    "  Where'll  we  go  now  ?  "  Corinne  wailed,  having 


:^. 


56 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


considered  it  was  time  to  begin  crying.  "  I'm 
drownded,  and  my  teetli  knock  together,  I'm  gettin' 
so  cold  !  " 

They  paused  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  Coiinne  still 
lamenting. 

"  I  don't  want  to  stop  here,"  said  Grandma  Pad- 
gett, adding,  "  but  I  suppose  we  must." 

The  house  was  large  and  weather-beaten ;  its  gable- 
end  turned  toward  the  road.  The  "  feefty  famblies  " 
had  left  no  trace  of  domestic  lite.  Grass  and  weeds 
ofrew  to  the  lower  windows.  The  entrance  was  at  one 
side  through  a  sea  of  rank  growths. 

"  It  looks  like  they's  ghosts  lived  here,"  pro- 
nounced Robert  dismally. 

"  Don't  let  me  hear  such  idle  speeches  ! "  said 
Grandma  Padgett,  shaking  her  head.  "Spooks  and 
ghosts  only  live  in  people's  imaginations." 

"  If  they  got  tired  of  that,"  said  Robert,  "  they'd 
come  to  live  here." 

"The  old  house  looks  like  its  name  was  Susan," 
wept  Corinne.  "  Are  we  goin'  to  stay  all  night  in 
this  Susan  house,  ma  ?  " 

Her  parent  stepped  resolutely  from  the  •  carriage, 
and  Bobaday  hastened  to  let  down  some  bars.  He 
helped  his  grandmother  lead  the  horses  into  a  weedy 
enclosure,  and  there  unhitch  them  from  the  carriage. 


"something's  in  the  cellar  I" 


'fuf 

■  m 

1   ixjt. 

i 

i^  4111 

m 


? 


U-  -'-It 


\<        I. 


liiii 


THE   SUSXN    house. 


59 


There  was  a  shed  covered  with  straw  which  served 
for  a  stable.  The  horses  were  watered  —  Robeit 
wading  to  his  neck  among  cherry  sprouts  to  a  curb 
well,  and  unhooking  the  heavy  bucket  from  its  chain, 
after  a  search  for  something  else  available.  Then 
leaving  the  poor  creatures  to  browse  as  best  they 
could,  the  party  prepared  to  move  upon  the  house. 
Aunt  Corinne  came  out  of  the  wet  carriage. 

Grandma  Padgett  picked  up  some  sticks  and  chips. 
They  attempted  to  unlock  the  door ;  but  the  lock  was 
broken.  "  Anybody  can  go  in  !  "  remarked  the  head 
of  the  party.  "  But  I  don't  know  that  we  can  even 
build  a  fire,  and  as  to  provisions,  1  s'pose  we'll  have 
to  starve  this  night." 

But  stumbling  into  a  dark  front  room,  and  feeling 
hopelessly  along  the  mantel,  they  actually  found 
matches.     The  tenth  one  struck  flame. 

There  were  ashes  and  black  brands  in  the  fireplace, 
left  there  possibly,  by  the  landlord's  last  moofer. 
Grandma  Padgett  built  a  fire  to  which  the  children 
huddled,  casting  fearful  glances  up  the  damp-stained 
walls.     The  flame  was  something  like  a  welcome. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Grandma  with  energy,  "  there  are 
even  provisions  in  the  house.  I  wouldn't  grudge 
payin'  that  man  a  good  price  and  cookin'  them  myself, 
if  I  could  give  you  something  to  eat." 


6o 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  We  can  look,"  suggested  Bobaday.  "  They'd  be 
in  the  cellar,  wouldn't  they  ?  " 

"  It's  lots  lonesomer  than  our  house  was  the  morn- 
ing we  came  away,"  chattered  aunt  Corinne,  warming 


her  long  hands  at  the  blaze. 


And  now  beneath  the  floor  began  a  noise  which 
made  even  Grandma  Padgett  stand  erect,  glaring 
through  her  glasses.     '  -v 

^^  Somethin' s  in  the  cellar  !"  whispered  Bobaday. 


I 


t  * 


CHAPTER  V. 


|i 


THE  SUSAN  HOUSE  CELLAR. 


11 


IT  was  not  pleasant  to  stand  in  a  strange  house  in 
an  unknown  neighborhood,  drenched,  hungry 
and  unprotected,  hearing  fearful  sounds  like  danger 
threatening  under  foot. 

Corinne  felt  a  speechless  desire  to  be  back  in  the 
creek  agaii  and  on  the  point  of  drowning ;  that  would 
soon  be  over.  But  who  could  tell  what  might  occur 
after  this  groaning  in  the  cellar  ? 

"  I  heard  a  noise,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  to 
bespeak  their  attention,  as  if  they  could  remember 
ever  hearing  anything  else. 

"  It's  cats,  I  think,"  said  Robert  Day,  husky  with 
courage.  '  ^ 

Cats  could  not  groan  in  such  short  and  painful 
catches.  Conjectures  of  many  colors  appeared  and 
disappeared  like  flashes  in  Bobaday's  mind.  The 
groaner  was  somebody  that  bad  Dutch  landlord  had 
half  murdered  and  put  in  the  cellar.     Maybe  the  floor 

6i 


■r;.] 


I    t  j 
i1 


i! 

i 


M 


t  I. 


\i  1 


62 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


was  built  to  give  way  and  let  every  traveller  fall  into 
a  pit !  Or  it  might  be  some  boy  or  girl  left  behind 
by  wicked  movers  to  starve.  Or  a  beggarman, 
wanting  the  house  to  himself,  could  be  making  that 
noise  to  frighten  them  away. 

The  sharp  groans  were  regularly  uttered.  Corinne 
buried  her  head  in  her  mother's  skirts  and  waited  to 
be  taken  or  left,  as  the  Booggar  pleased. 

"  Well,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  "  I  suppose  we'll 
have  to  go  and  see  what  ails  that  Thing  down  there. 
It  may  be  a  human  bein'  in  distress." 

Robert  feared  it  was  something  else,  but  he  would 
not  have  mentioned  it  to  his  grandmother. 

*'  What'll  we  carry  to  see  with  ? "  he  eagerly  inquired. 
It  was  easy  to  be  eager,  because  they  had  no  lights 
except  the  brands  in  the  fireplace. 

Grandma  Padgett,  who  in  her  early  days  had  carried 
live  coals  from  neighbors',houses  miles  away,  saw  how 
to  dispense  with  lamp  or  candle.  She  took  a  shovel 
full  of  embers  and  placed  a  burning  chip  on  top. 
The  chip  would  have  gone  out  by  itself,  but  was  kept 
blazing  by  the  coals  underneath. 

"  Shall  I  go  ahead  ?  "  inquired  Robert. 

"No,  you  walk  behind.  And  you  might  carry  a 
piece  of  stick,"  replied  his  grandmother,  conveying  a 
hint  which  made  his  shoulder  blades  feel  chilly. 


THE   SUSAN    HOUSE   CELLAR. 


«3 


They  moved  toward  the  cellar  entrance  in  a  slow 
procession,  to  keep  the  chip  from  flaring  out. 

"  Don't  hang  to  me  so  !  "  Grandma  Padgett  remon- 
strated with  her  daughter.  "  I  sh'U  step  on  you,  and 
down  we'll  all  go  and  set  the  house  afire." 

Garrets  are  cheerful,  cobwebby  places,  always  full 
of  slits  where  long,  smoky  sun-rays  can  poke  in.  An 
amber  warmth  cheers  the  darkness  of  garrets ;  you 
feel  certain  there  is  nothing  ugly  hiding  behind  the 
remotest  and  dustiest  box.  If  rnts  or  mice  inhabit  it, 
they  are  jovial  fellows.  But  how  different  is  a  cellar, 
and  especially  a  cellar  neglected.  You  plunge  down 
rough  steps  into  a  cavern.  A  mouldy  air  from  dried-up 
and  forgotten  vegetables  meets  you.  The  earth  may 
not  be  moist  underfoot,  but  it  has  not  the  kind  feeling 
of  sun-warmed  earth.  And  if  big  rats  hide  there,  how 
bold  and  hideous  they  are !  There  are  cool  farm- 
house cellars  floored  with  cement  and  shelved  with 
sweet-smelling  pine,  where  apple-bins  make  incense, 
and  swinging-shelves  of  butter,  tables  of  milk  crocks, 
lines  of  fruit  cans  and  home-made  catsup  bottles, 
jars  of  pickles  and  chowder,  and  white  covered  pastry 
and  cake,  promise  abundant  hospitality.  But  these 
are  inverted  garrets,  rather  than  cellars.  They  are 
refrigerators  for  pure  air ;  and  they  keep  a  mellow 
light  of  their  own.     When  you  go  into  one  of  them  it 


I 


I 


f 


i        I 


64 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


seems  as  if  the  house  were  standing  on  its  head  to 
express  its  joy  and  comfort. 

liut  the  Susan  House  cellar  was  one  of  dread,  aside 
from  the  noise  proceeding  out  of  it.  Bobaday  knew 
this  before  they  opened  a  door  upon  a  narrow-throated 
descent. 

One  of  Zene's  stories  became  vivid.  It  was  a  story 
of  a  house  where  nobody  could  stay,  though  the  land- 
lord offered  it  rent-free.  But  along  came  two  good 
youths  without  any  money,  and  for  board  and  lodging, 
they  undertook  to  break  the  spell  by  sleeping  there 
three  nights.  The  first  two  nights  they  were  not  dis- 
turbed, and  sat  with  their  candle  reading  good  books 
until  after  midnight.  But  the  third,  just  on  the  stroke 
of  twelve,  a  noise  began  in  the  cellar  !  So  they  took 
their  candle,  and,  ^rmed  with  nothing  except  good 
books,  went  below,  and  in  the  furthest  corner  they 
saw  a  little  old  man  with  a  red  nightcap  on  his  head, 
sitting  astride  of  a  barrel  !  In  Zene's  story  the  little 
old  man  only  had  it  on  his  mind  to  tell  these  good 
youths  where  to  dig  for  his  money  ;  and  when  they 
had  secured  the  money,  he  amiably  disappeared,  and 
the  house  was  pleasant  to  live  in  ever  afterward. 

This  tale,  heard  in  the  barn  while  Zene  was  greas- 
ing harnesses,  and  heard  without  Grandma  Padgett's 
sanction,  now  made  her  grandson  shiver  with  dread 


■Mi 


•..If      :  H 


iS:     f> 


'    it 


il 


"  who's  there?" 


^H'i  fru-s 


il  i 


I  ■  '  I 


I 


THE    SUSAN    HOUSE    CELLAR. 


67 


as  his  feet  went  down  into  the  Susan  House  dungeon. 
It  was  trying  enough  to  be  exploring  a  strange  cellar 
full  of  groans,  without  straining  your  eyes  in  expecta- 
tion of  seeing  a  little  old  man  in  a  red  nightcap, 
sitting  astride  of  a  barrel ! 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  said  Grandma  Padgett  with  stern 
emphasis,  as  she  held  her  beacon  stretched  out  into 
the  cellar. 

The  groaning  ceased  for  an  awful  space  of  time. 
Aunt  Corinne  was  behind  her  nephew,  and  she 
squatted  on  the  step  to  peer  with  distended  eyes, 
lest  some  hand  should  reach  up  and  grab  her  by  the 
foot. 

It  was  a  small  square  cellar,  having  earthen  sides, 
but  piles  of  pine  boxes  made  ambushes  everywhere. 

"  Come  out !  "  Grandma  Padgett  spoke  aghin. 
"  We  won't  have  any  tricks  played.  But  if  you're  hurt, 
we  can  help  you." 

It  was  like  addressing  solid  darkness,  for  the  chip 
was  languishing  upon  its  coals,  and  cast  but  a  dim 
red  glare  around  the  shovel. 

Still  some  being  crept  toward  them  from  the  dark- 
ness, uttering  a  prolonged  and  hearty  groan,  as  if  to 
explode  at  once  the  accumulations  of  silence. 


5  •'  *t 


n 


i 


.:   -■! 


CHAPTER   VI. 


MR.    MATTHEWS. 


\    UNT  CORINNE  realizing  it  was  a  man,  rushed 

-^  ^  to  the  top  of  the  steps  and  hid  her  eyes  behind 
the  door.  She  knew  her  mother  could  deal  with  him, 
and,  if  he  offered  any  harm,  pour  coals  of  fire  upon  his 
head  in  a  literal  sense.  But  she  did  not  feel  able  to 
stand  by.  Robert,  on  the  other  hand,  seeing  no  red 
nightcap  on  the  head  thrust  up  toward  them,  sup- 
ported his  grandmother  strongly,  and  even  helped  to 
pull  the  man  up-stairs. 

One  touch  of  his  soft,  foolish  body  was  enough  to 
convince  any  one  that  he  was  a  harmless  creature. 
His  foot  was  sprained. 

Robert  carried  a  backless  chair  and  set  it  before 
the  fire,  and  on  this  the  limping  man  was  placed. 
Grandma  Padgett  emptied  her  coals  on  the  hearth 
and  surveyed  him.  He  had  a  red  face  and  bashful 
eyes,  and  while  the  top  of  his  head  was  quite  bald,  he 

68 


MR.    MATTHEWS. 


69 


had  a  half-circle  of  fuzz  extending  around  his  face 
from  ear  to  ear.  He  wore  a  roundabout  and  trousers, 
and  shoes  with  copper  toes.  His  hands  were  fat  and 
dimpled  as  well  as  freckled.  Altogether,  he  had  the 
appearance  of  a  hugely  overgrown  boy,  ducking  his 
head  shyly  while  Grandma  Padgett  looked  at  him. 

"  For  pity  sake  !  "  said  Grandma  Padgett.  "  What 
ails  the  creature  ?  What's  your  name,  and  who  are 
you  ? " 

At  that  the  man  chanted  off  in  a  nasal  sing-song,  as 
if  he  were  accustomed  to  repeating  his  rhyme : 

J.  D.  Matthews  is  my  name, 

Ohio-r  is  my  nation, 
Mud  Creek  is  my  dwellin'  place, 

And  glory  is  my  expectation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  removing  her 
glasses,  a.  she  did  when  very  much  puzzled. 

Corinne,  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  lighted  room, 
began  to  laugh  aloud,  and  after  looking  towards  her, 
t'le  man  laughed  also,  as  if  they  two  were  enjoying  a 
joke  upon  the  mother. 

"  Well,  it  may  be  funny,  but  you  gave  us  enough  of 
a  scare  v/ith  your  gruntin'  and  your  groanin',''  said 
Grandma  Padgett  severely. 

J.  D.  Matthews  reminded  of  his  recent  tribulations, 


>:« 


4 


»  I   111:  » 


;,>■:  I 


ii  ;, 


ii  ]\ 


70 


OLD  CARAVAN  DAYS. 


took  up  one  of  his  feet  and  began  to  groan  over  it 
again.  He  was  as  shapeless  and  clumsy  as  a  bear, 
and  this  motion  seemed  not  unlike  the  tiltings  of  a 
bear  forced  to  dance. 

"  There  you  go,"  said  Grandma  Padgett.  "  Can't 
you  tell  how  you  came  in  the  cellar,  and  what  hurt 
you?" 

Mr.  Matthews  piped  out  readily,  as  if  he  had 
packed  the  stanza  into  shape  between  the  groan*  of 
his  underground  sojourn  : 

To  the  cellar  for  fuel  I  did  go, 

And  there  I  met  my  overthrow; 

I  lost  my  footing  and  my  candle, 

And  grazed  my  shin  and  sprained  my  ankle. 


m 


"  The  man  must  be  a  poet,"  pronounced  Grandma 
Padgett  with  contempt.  "  He  has  to  say  everything 
in  rhyme." 

Chanted  Mr.  Matthews : 

I  was  not  born  in  a  good  time, 
I  cannot  speak  except  in  rhyme. 

"  Ain't  he  funny?"  said  Bobaday,  rubbing  his  own 
knees  with  enjoyment. 

"  He's  very  daft,"  said  the  grandmother.  "  And 
what  to  do  for  him  I  don't  know.     We've  nothing  to 


MR.    MATTHEWS. 


V 


eat  ourselves,     I  might  wet  his  foot  and  tie  it  up." 
Mr.  Matthews   looked   at  her  smilingly  while  he 
recited  : 

I  have  a  cart  that  does  contain 
A  panaji-tv  for  ey'ry  pain. 
There's  coffee,  also  there  is  c/iet% 
Sugar  and  cakes,  bread  and  hone-ee. 
I  have  parch  corn  and  liniment, 
Which  causes  me  to  feel  content. 
There  is  some  half  a  dozen  kittles 
To  serve  me  when  I  cook  my  vittles. 
Butter  and  eggs  I  do  deal  in ; 
To  go  without  would  be  a  sin. 
When  I  sit  down  to  cook  my  meals, 
I  know  how  good  a  king  feels. 

"  Well,  if  you  had  your  cart  handy  it  would  be 
worth  while,"  said  Grandma  Padgett  indulgently. 
"  But  talkin'  of  such  things  when  the  children  are 
hungry  only  aggravates  a  body  more." 

Producing  a  key  from  his  roundabout  pocket,  Mr. 
Matthews  lifted  his  voice  and  actually  sung : 

J.  D.  Matthews'  cart  stands  at  your  door, 
Lady,  will  you  step  out  and  see  my  store  ? 
I've  cally-co  and  Irish  table  linen. 
Domestic  gingham  and  the  best  o'  flannen. 
I  fake  eggs  and  butter  for  these  treasures, 
,  _i_^J  I  never  cheat,  but  give  good  measures. 


'■\ 


■ 


?:      ! 


:|l 


iHf  hi 


I 


|t     •  OLE    CARAVAN    DAYS. 

"  Let  me  see  if  there  is  a  cart,"  begged  Bobaday, 
reaching  for  the  key  which  his  grandmother  reluct- 
antly received. 

He  then  went  to  the  front  door  and  groped  in  the 
weeds.  The  hand-cart  was  there,  and  all  of  Mr. 
Matthews'  statements  were  found  to  be  true.  He 
had  plenty  of  provisions,  as  well  as  a  small  stock  of 
dry  goods  and  patent  medicines,  snugly  packed  in  the 
vehicle  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  pushing  before 
him.  There  were  even  candles.  Grandma  Padgett 
lighted  one.  and  stuck  it  in  an  empty  liniment  bottle. 
Then  she  dressed  the  silly  pedler's  ankle,  and  put  an 
abundant  supper  on  the  fire  to  cook  in  his  various 
kettles ;  the  pedler  smiling  with  pure  joy  all  the 
time  to  find  himself  the  centre  of  such  a  family 
party. 

Bobaday  and  Corinne  came  up,  and  stood  leaning 
against  the  ends  of  the  mantel.  No  poached  eggs 
and  toast  ever  looked  so  n'ce  ;  no  honey  ever  had 
such  melting  yellow  comb  ;  no  tea  smelled  so  deli- 
cious ;  no  ginger  cakes  had  such  a  rich  moistness. 
They  sat  on  the  carriage  cushions  and  ate  their  sup- 
per with  Grandma  Padgett.  It  was  placed  on  the 
side  of  an  empty  box,  between  them  and  the  pedler- 
man.  He  divided  his  attention  betwixt  eating  and 
chanting    rhymes,    interspersing    both    with    furtive 


MR.    MATTHEWS. 


73 


laughs,  into  which  he  tried  to  draw  the  children. 
Grandma  Padgett  overawed  him ;  but  he  evidently 
felt  on  a  level  with  aunt  Corinne  and  her  nephew. 
In  his  foolish  red  face  there  struggled  a  recollection 
of  having  gone  fishing,  or  played  marbles,  or  hunted 
wild  flowers  with  these  children  or  children  like  them. 
He  nodded  and  twinkled  his  eyes  at  them,  and  they 
laughed  at  whatever  he  did.  His  ankle  was  so 
relieved  by  a  magic  liniment,  that  he  felt  able  to 
hobble  around  the  house  when  Grandma  Padgett  ex- 
plored it,  repeating  under  his  breath  the  burst  he 
indulged  in  when  she  arrayed  the  supper  on  the  box: 


Hi?' 


J.'M 


.■  «;;i!: 


f} 


'<■     4'' 


I  '-i 


,  O,  I  went  to  a  friend's  house, 

The  friend  says,  '  Come  in, 
Have  a  hot  cup  of  coffee  ; 
And  how  have  you  been  ? ' 

Grandma  Padgett  said  she  could  not  sleep  until 
she  knew  what  other  creatures  were  hidden  in  the 
house. 

They  all  ascended  the  enclosed  staircase,  and 
searched  echoing  dusty  rooms  where  rats  or  mice 
whisked  out  of  sight  at  their  approach. 

"This  is  a  funny  kind  of  an  addition  to  a  tavern," 
remarked  the  head  of  the  party.  "No  beds  :  no  any- 
thing.    We'll  build  a  fire  in  this  upper  fireplace,  and 


74 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


bring  the  cushions  and  shawls  up,  and  see  if  we  can 
get  a  wink  of  sleep.  It  ain't  a  cold  night,  and  we're 
dry  now.  You  can  sleep  by  the  fireplace  down-stairs," 
she  said  to  the  pedler,  *'  and  I'll  settle  with  you  for 
our  br^jakfast  and  supper  before  we  leave  in  the 
morning.  It's  been  a  providence  that  you  were  in 
the  house." 

Mr.  Matthews  smiled  deferentially,  and  appeared 
to  be  pondering  a  new  rhyme  about  Grandma  Pad- 
gett. But  the  subject  was  so  weighty  it  kept  him 
shaking  his  head. 

They  came  down-stairs  for  fuel  and  coals,  and  she 
requested  the  pedler  to  take  possession  of  the 
lower  room  and  make  himself  comfortable,  but  not  to 
set  the  house  on  fire. 

"  What  shall  we  give  him  to  sleep  on  }  "  pondered 
the  grandmother.  "  I  can't  spare  things  from  the 
children  ;  it  won't  do  to  let  him  sleep  on  the  floor." 

I  have  a  cart,  it  has  been  said, 
Which  serves  me  both  for  cupboard  and  bed, 


'^.    :* 


> 

H 
•-i 

X 

w 

T 

r 
> 

X 
0 
!c 

« 


chanted  Mr.  Matthews. 

"Well,  that's  a  good  thing,"  said  Grandma  Pad- 
gett. "  If  you  could  pull  a  whole  furnished  house  out 
of  that  cart  'twouldn't  surprise  me." 

The  pedler  opened  the  door  and  dragged  his  cart 


r^3 


lA 

m 

\m 

^M 

-  '^fM 

I 

4 

m 

1 

m 

1 

M 


MR.    MATTHEWS. 


77 


in  over  the  low  sill.  They  then  bolted  the  door  with 
such  rusty  fastenings  as  remained  to  it. 

As  soon  as  he  felt  the  familiar  handle  on  his  palms, 
J.  D.  Matthews  forgot  that  his  ankle  had  been 
twisted.  He  was  again  upon  the  road,  as  free  as 
the  small  wild  creatures  tiiat  whisked  along  the 
fence.  Grandma  Padgett's  grown-up  strength  of 
mind  failed  to  restrain  him  from  acting  the  horse. 
He  neighed,  and  rattled  the  cart  wildly  over  the 
empty  room.  Now  he  ran  away  and  pretended 
to  kick  everything  to  pieces ;  and  now  he  put  him- 
self up  at  a  manger,  and  ground  his  feed.  He  broke 
out  of  his  stable  and  careened  wildly  around  a 
pasture,  refusing  to  be  hitched,  and  expressing  his 
contempt  for  the  cart  by  kicking  up  at  it. 

"  I  guess  your  sprain  wasn't  as  bad  as  you  let  on," 
observed  Grandma  Padgett. 

The  observation,  or  a  twinge,  reminded  Mr; 
Matthews    to    double    himself     down    and    groan 


agam. 


With  painful  limps,  and  Robert  Day's  assistance, 
he  got  the  cart  before  the  fireplace.  It  looked  like 
a  narrow,  high  green  box  on  wheels.  The  pedler 
blocked  the  wheels  behind,  and  propped  the  handle 
level.  Then  he  crept  with  great  contentment  to  the 
top,  and  stretched  himself  to  sleep.       ^  ^  ^ 


7^ 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  He's  a  kind  of  a  fowl  of  the  air,"  Grandma 

Padj^ett. 

"Oh,  but  I  hope  he's  going  our  road!"  said 
Jiobaday,  as  they  re-ascended  the  stairs.  "  He's 
more  fun  than  a  drove  of  turkeys  !  " 

"And  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  of  him,"  said  aunt 
Corinne.  "  He  ain't  like  the  old  man  with  a  bag  on 
his  back." 

But  J.  D.  Matthews  was  going  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

Before  Grandma  Padgett  had  completed  her  brief 
toilet  next  morning,  and  while  the  daylight  was  yet 
uncertain,  the  Dutch  landlord  knocked  at  the  outer 
door  for  his  fee.  He  seemed  not  at  all  surprised  at 
finding  the  pedler  lodging  there,  but  told  him  to 
stop  at  the  tavern  and  trade  with  the  vrow. 

"  And  a  safe  time  the  poor  simple  soul  will  have," 
said  Grandma  Padgett,  making  her  spectacles  glitter 
at  the  landlord,  "gettin'  through  the  creek  that  nigh 
drowned  us.  I  suppose  you  have  a  ford  that  you 
don't  keep  for  movers." 

"  Oh,  yah  !  "  said  the  landlord.    "  Te  fort  ist  goot." 

"  How  dared  you  send  a  woman  and  two  children 
to  such  an  empty,  miserable  shell  as  this  ? " 

"  I  don't  keep  moofers  to  mine  tafern,"  said  the 
landlord,  putting  his  abundant  charge  into  his  pocket. 


<<l'l 


m 


J.    U.    MATTHEWS    kUNb    AWAY. 


T 


MR.    MATTHEWS. 


01 


*' Chay-Te,  he  always  stops  here.  He  coes  all  ofer 
te  countries,  Chay-Te  toes.     His  heaclt  ist  pat." 

"  But  his  heart  is  good,"  said  the  grandmother. 
"And  that  will  count  up  more  to  his  credit  than  if 
he  was  an  exvcrtioner,  and  ill-treated  the  stranger 
within  his  gate." 

"Oh,  Chay-Te  ist  a  goot  feller!"  said  the  Dutch 
landlord  comfortably,  untouched  by  any  reflections 
on  his  own  conduct. 

Grandma  Padgett  could  not  feel  placid  in  her 
mind  until  the  weeds  and  hill  hid  him  from  sight. 

Mr,  Matthews  arose  so  sound  from  his  night's 
slumber,  that  he  was  able  after  pumping  a  prodigious 
lot  of  water  over  himself,  and  blowing  with  enjoy- 
ment, to  help  her  get  the  breakfast,  and  put  the 
kettles  in  *:ravelling  order  afterwards.  He  had  a 
great  many  housewifely  ways,  and  his  tidiness  was  a 
satisfaction  to  Grandma  Padgett.  "J'he  breakfast  was 
excellent,  but  Corinne  and  Bobaday  on  one  side  of 
the  box,  and  J.  D.  Matthews  on  the  other,  exchanged 
glances  of  regret  at  parting.  He  helped  Robert  put 
the  hor.jes  to  the  carriage,  making  blunders  at  every 
stage  of  the  hitching  up. 

They  all  came  out  of  the  Susan  House,  and  he 
pushed  his  cart  into  the  road. 

"  I  almost  hate  to   leave  it,"  said  aunt  Corinne, 


I 


m 


'fi 


^'  I 


Sa 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  because  we   did  have  a  good  time  after  we  were 
scared  so  bad." 

''Seems  as  if  a  body  always  hates  to  leave  a  place," 
remarked  Bobaday.  "  The  next  people  that  come 
along  will  never  know  we  lived  here  one  night.  But 
m'V/alwc.ys  remember  it." 

Grandma  Padgett  before  entering  the  carriage, 
was  trying  to  make  the  pedler  take  pa\'  for  the  food 
her  family  ate.  He  smiled  at  her  deferentially,  but 
backed  away  with  his  cart. 

"  What  a  man  this  is !  "  she  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"We  owe  you  for  two  meals'  vittles.'' 

"I  have  some  half  a  dozen  kittles,"  murmured 
Mr.  Matthew? 

"But  won't  you  take  the  money?  The  landlord 
was  keen  enough  for  his." 

The  pedler  had  got  his  rhyme  about  Grandma 
Padgett  completed.  He  left  her,  sHll  stretching  her 
hand  ont,  and  rattled  his  cart  up  to  the  children  who 
were  leaning  from  the  carriage  towards  him. 

"  She  is  a  lady  of  renown, "  chanted  J.  D.  Matthews, 
indicating  their  grandmother. 

She  makes  good  butter  by  the  pound, 
ITnr  hand  is  kind,  so  is  her  tongue  ; 
But  when  she  comes  I  want  to  run  1 

He  accordingly  ran,  rattling  the  cart  like  a  hail- 


MK.    MATTHEWS. 


83 


Storm  before  him,  downhill,  and  out  of  their  sight. 

"Ah,  there  he  goes!"  sighed  aunt  Corinne,  "and 
he  hardly  limps  a  bit.  I  hope  we'll  see  him  again 
some  time." 

"  I  might  'a  forced  the  money  into  his  pocket," 
reflected  Grandma  Padgett,  as  she  took  up  the  lines. 
"  But  I'd  rather  feel  in  debt  to  that  kind,  simple 
soul  than  to  many  another,  ^^'l^y  didn't  we  ask  him 
if  he  saw  Zene's  wagon  up  the  road .-'  These  poor 
horses  want  oats.  They'll  be  glad  to  sight  the  white 
cover  once  more." 

"I  would  almost  rather  have  him  come  along," 
decided  Robert  Day,  "  than  to  find  the  wagon.  F'or 
he  could  make  a  camp  anywhere,  and  speak  his 
poetry  all  the  time.  What  fun  he  must  have  if  he 
wants  to  stay  in  the  woods  all  night.  I  expect  if  he 
wanted  to  hide  he  could  creep  into  that  cart  and 
stretch  out,  with  his  face  where  he  could  smell  the 
honey  and  ginger  cakes.  I'd  like  to  have  a  cart 
and  travel  like  that.  Are  we  going  on  to  the  'pike 
again.  Grandma  ? " 

"Not  till  we  tind  Zene,"  she  replied,  driving 
resolutely  forward  on  the  strange  road. 


I* 


1    :!i 


CHAPTER    VII. 


zene's  man  and  woman. 


J     li 


A  COVERED  wagon  appeared  on  the  first  cross- 
road, moving  steadily  between  rows  of  elder 
bushes.  The  carriage  waited  its  approach.  A  figure 
like  ^.ene's  sat  resting  his  feet  on  the  tongue  behind 
the  old  gray  and  the  old  white. 

"It's  our  wagon,"  said  Robert  Day.  Presently 
Zene's  countenance,  and  even  the  cast  in  his  eyes, 
became  a  certainty  instead  of  a  wavering  indistinct- 
ness, and  he  smiled  with  satisfaction  \.hila  halting 
his  vehicle  at  right  angles  with  the  carriage. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  inquired  Grandma  Pad- 
gett. 

"  Over  on  t'other  road,"  replied  Zene,  indicating 
tl  ^  direction  with  his  whip,  "  huntin'  you  folks.  I 
knowjd  you  hadn't  made  the  right  turn  somehow." 

Grandma  Padgett  mentioned  her  experisnce  with 

the  Dutch  landlord  and  the  ford,  both  of  v.hich  Zene 

hud  avoided  b)^  taking  another  cross-road  ■  h^t  be  had 

84 


-■f^« 


v-^m'-*.- 


m  Ik 


ZENE  S    MAN    AND   WOMAN. 


8S 


neglected  to  indicate  to  them.  He  said  he  thought 
they  would  see  the  wagon-track  and  foller,  not  bein' 
fur  behind.  When  he  discovered  they  were  not  in  his 
train,  he  was  in  a  narrow  road  and  could  not  turn  ; 
so  he  tied  the  horses  and  walked  back  a  piece.  He 
got  on  a  corn-field  fence  and  shouted  to  them  ;  but 
by  that  time  there  was  no  carriage  anywhere  in  the 
landscape. 

"  Such  things  won't  do,"  said  Grandma  Padgett 
with  some  severity. 

"  No,  marm,"  responded  Zene  humbly. 

"  We  must  keep  together,"  said  the  head  of  the 
caravan. 

*'  Yes,  marm,"  responded  Zene  earnestly. 

"Well,  now,  you  may  drive  ahead  and  keep  the 
carriage  in  sight  till  it's  dinner-time  and  we  come  to 
a  good  place  to  halt.' 

Bobaday  said  he  believed  he  would  get  in  with 
Zene  and  try  the  wagon  awhile.  Springs  and  cush- 
ions had  become  tiresome.  He  half-stood  on  the 
tongue,  to  bring  his  legs  down  on  a  level  with  Zene's, 
and  enjoyed  the  jolting  in  every  piece  of  his  back- 
bone. He  had  had  a  surfeit  of  woman-society.  Even 
the  horsey  smell  of  Zene's  clothes  was  found 
agreeable.  And  above  all,  he  wanted  to  talk  about 
J.  D.  Matthews,  and  tell  the  terrors  of  a  bottomless 


3     ii 


*! 


i* 


I 


86 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


ford   and  a  house  with   a   strange-sounding   cellar. 

"  But  the  man  was  the  funniest  thing,"  said  Boba- 
day.  "  He  just  talked  poetry  all  the  time,  and 
Grandma  said  he  was  daft.  I'd  like  to  talk  that  way 
myself,  but  I  can't  make  it  jee." 

Zene  observed  mysteriously,  that  there  were  some 
queer  folks  in  this  section. 

Yes,  Bobaday  admitted  ;  the  landlord  was  as  Dutch 
as  sour-krout. 

Zene  observed  that  al)  the  queer  folks  wasn't  Dutch. 
He  shook  his  head  and  looked  so  steadily  at  a  black 
stump  that  Robe'-t  knew  his  eyes  were  fixedly  cast  on 
the  horizon.  The  boy  speculated  nn  fjic  possibility 
of  people  with  crooked  eyes  seeing  anything  clearly. 
But  Zene's  hints  were  a  stimulant  to  curiosity. 

"  Where  did  you  stay  last  night?  "  inquired  Robert, 
bracing  himself  for  pleasant  revelations. 

*'  OK.  I  thought  at  first  I'd  put  up  in  the  wago»,'* 
replied  Zene. 

*'Rityou  didn>?" 

"  No  :  wot  mUrelyy 

"  What  did  you  do  ? "  pressed  Robert  Day. 

"Weil,  I  thought  I'd  belter  git  nigh  some  house,  on 
account  of  givin'  me  a  chance  to  see  if  you  folks  come 
by.     I  thought  you'd  inquire  at  all  the  houses." 

"  Did  you  stop  at  one  ?  " 


)S     Ii: 


1 


f     I.I 

■   il 


ZEME    KXCITKS    HOBADAV'S   CUXCOSITY, 


hi! 


<     V. 


■ 

■ 

1 

1   > 

■ 

^     1 

Ip 

^^^R'~ 

1 

m]\ 

■ 

m  ( 

■ 

Im'tk 

^  SW  IimPI 

H 

ij  Hj '  ™ 

■ 

Ij  JKr-  -  -f- 

ZENE  S    MAN    AND    WOMAN. 


«9 


"I  took  the  team  out  by  a  house.  It  was  plum 
dark  then." 

"  I'd  gone  in  to  see  what  kind  of  folks  they  were 
first,"  remarked  Bobaday. 

"  Yes,  sir;  that's  what  I'd  orto  done.  But  I  leads 
them  round  to  their  feed-box  after  I  vatered  'em  to  a 
spring  o'  runnin'  water.  Then  I  doesn't  know  but  the 
woman  o'  the  house  will  give  me  a  supper  if  I  pays 
for  it.  So  I  slips  to  the  side  door  and  knocks.  And 
a  man  opens  the  door." 

Robert  Day  drew  in  his  breath  quickly. 

*'  How  did  the  man  look  \  "  he  inquired. 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,"  replied  Zene,  "  bekaze  I 
was  so  struck  with  the  looks  of  the  woman  that  I 
looked  right  past  him." 

Robert  considered  the  cast  in  Zene's  eyes,  and  feit 
in  doubt  whether  he  looked  at  the  man  and  saw  the 
woman,  or  looked  at  the  woman  and  saw  the  man. 

"  Was  she  pretty  ?  " 

"  Pretty  !  "  replied  Zene.  "  Is  that  flea-bit-gray, 
grazin'  in  the  medder  there,  pretty  ?" 

"  Well,"  replied  Bobaday,  shifting  his  feet,  "that's 
about  as  good-looking  as  one  of  our  old  grays." 

"You  don't  know  a  horse,"  saict  Zene  indulgently. 
"  Ourn's  an  iron  gray, 
in  grays." 


1 

1 

1 

I  1 

IS 

r 

■   ii 

1 
f 

\             I 

' 

■    -1 

.1; 

1 

,j 

1 

1^ _;  \  i? 

HB)  ' 

1 

H  1!  ^    1^ 

|r  iiif 

■■i 

i;   : 

( 

^1   ! 

■    ! 

H  '   J  UM 

■\ 

I  i  1 


••  i- 


There's  a  sight  of  difference 


--ri.  h    *. 


•4 


r 


90 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


Was  the  woman  ug 


ly 


|i    r 


[llil 


"  Is  a  spotted  snake  ugly?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Robert  decidedly  ;  "  or  it  'pears  so 
to  me." 

*'  That's  how  the  woman  'peared  to  me.  She  was 
tousled,  and  looked  wild  out  of  her  eyes.  The  man 
says,  says  he,  *  What  do  you  want  ? '  I  s'ze,  '  Can  I 
git  a  bite  here  ?  '  " 

Robert  had  frequently  explained  to  Zene  the  utter 
nonsense  of  this  abbreviation,  "  I  s'ze,"  but  Zene  in- 
variably returned  to  it,  perhaps  dimly  reasoning  that 
he  had  a  right  to  the  dignity  of  third  person  when  re- 
peating what  he  had  said.  If  he  said  of  another  man, 
"  says  he,"  why  could  he  not  remark  of  himself,  "  I 
says  he  ?  "  He  considered  it  not  only  correct,  but  or- 
namental. 

"  The  man  says,  says  he,  '  We  don't  keep  foot- 
pads.' And  I  s'ze — for  I  was  mad  —  'I  ain't  no 
more  a  foot-pad  than  you  are,'  I  s'ze.  '  I've  got  a 
team  and  a  wagon  out  here,'  I  s'ze,  '  and  pervisions 
too,  but  I've  got  the  means  to  pay  for  a  warm  bite,'  I 
s'ze,  *  and  if  you  can't  accommodate  me,  I  s'pose 
there's  other  neighbors  that  can.'  " 

"  You  shouldn't  told  him  you  had  money  and 
things  !  "  exclaimed  Robert,  bulging  his  eyes. 

"  I   see   that,  soon's    I    done   it,"  returned   Zene, 


Vi 


ZENF/S    MAN    AND    WOMAN. 


91 


shaking  a  line  over  the  near  horse.  "  The  woman 
spoke  up,  and  she  says,  says  she,  *  There  ain't  any 
neighbor  nigher  than  five  miles.'  Thinks  I,  this  set- 
tlement looked  thicker  than  (hat.  But  I  doesn't  say 
yea  or  no  to  it.  And  they  had  me  come  in  and  eat. 
I  paid  twenty-five  cents  for  such  a  meal  as  your 
gran'marm  wouldn't  have  set  down  on  her  table." 
.  "  What  did  they  have  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  urged  Zene ;  "  I'd  like  to  forget 
it.  There  was  vittles,  b  they  tas'^ed  so  funny. 
And  they  kept  inquirin'  where  I's  goin'  and  who  was 
with  me.  They  was  the  uneasiest  people  you  ever 
see.  And  nothing  would  do  but  I  must  sleep  in  the 
house.  There  vvas  two  rooms.  I  didn't  see  till  I 
was  in  bed,  that  the  only  door  I  could  g'jt  out  of  let 
into  the  room  where  the  man  and  woman  st.ayed." 

Robert  Day  began  to  consider  the  part  of  Ohio 
through  which  his  caravan  was  passing,  a  weird  and 
unwholesome  region,  full  of  shivering  delights. 
While  the  landscape  lay  warm,  glowing  and  natural 
around  him,  it  was  luxury  to  turn  cold  at  Zene's 
night-peril. 

"  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep,"  continued  Zene,  "  and  I 
kind  of  kept  my  eye  on  the  only  window  there  was." 

Robert  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  reflected  that 
an   enemy  watc'iing  at   the  window  would  be  sure 


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93 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


Zene    was    looking   just   in    the    opposite    dire(ition. 

"And  the  man  and  woman  they  whispered." 

'*  What  did  they  whisper  about  ?  " 

**  How  do  I  know  ? "  said  Zene  mysteriously.  "  Whis- 
per—  whisper  — whisper —  z-z !  '''hat's  the  way  they 
kept  on,  Sometimes  I  thought  he's  threatenin'  her, 
and  sometimes  I  thought  she's  threatenin'  him.  But 
riong  in  the  middle  of  the  night  they  hushed  up 
whisperin'.  And  then  I  heard  somebody  open  the 
outside  door  and  go  out.  I  s'ze  to  myself, 'Now's 
the  lime  to  be  up  and  ready.'  So  I  was  puttin'  on 
the  clothes  I'd  took  off,  and  right  there  on  the  bed, 
like  it  had  been  there  all  the  time,  was  two  great  big 
eyes  turnin'  from  green  to  red,  and  flame  comin'  out 
of  them  like  it  does  out  of  coals  when  the  wind 
blows." 

'*  Was  it  a  cat  ? "  whispered  Robert  Day,  hoping 
since  Zene  was  safe,  that  it  was  not. 

Zene  passed  the  ir.sinuation  with  a  derisive  puff. 
He  would  not  stoop  to  parley  about  cats  in  a  peril  so 
extreme. 

"How  do  /  know  what  it  was?"  he  replied.  "I 
left  one  of  my  socks  and  took  the  boot  in  my  hand. 
It  was  all  the  gun  or  anything  o'  that  kind  I  had.  I 
left  my  neckhan'ketcher,  too." 

"  But  you  didn't  get  out  of  the  window,"  objected 


zenp:  s  man  and  woman. 


93 


Bobaday  eagerly.  "They  always  have  a  hole  dug, 
you  know,  right  under  the  window,  to  catch  folks  in." 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  responded  Zene,  leaping  a  possible  hole 
in  his  account.  "  I  guess  I  cleared  forty  rod,  and  I 
come  down  on  all-fours  behind  a  straw-pile  right  in 
the  stable-lot." 

"  Did  the  thing  follow  you?" 

"Before  I  could  turn  arou.td  and  lock,  I  see  that 
man  and  that  woman  leadin'  our  horses  away  from 
the  grove  where  Id  tied  'em  to  the  feed-box." 

"  What  for  ?  "  inquired  Robert  Day. 

Zene  cast  a  compassionate  glance  at  his  small  com- 
panion. 

"  What  do  folks  ever  lead  critters  away  in  the 
night  for  ?  "  he  hinted. 

"  Sometimes  to  water  and  feed  them." 

"  I  s'ze  to  myself,"  continued  Zene,  ignoring  this 
absurd  supposition,  '"now,  if  they  puts  the  horses  in 
their  stable,  they  means  to  keep  the  wagon  too,  and 
make  way  v/ith  me  so  no  one  will  ever  know  it. 
But,'  I  s'ze, '  if  they  tries  to  lead  the  liorses  off  some- 
where for  to  hide  'em,  then  thafs  all  they -want,  and 
they'll  pretend  in  the  morning  to  have  lost  stock 
themselves.'"  '     :-;     /        •     ' 

"  And  which  did  they  do .? "  urged  Robert  after  a 
thrilling  pause. 


■  i' 
'*: 
i  i 

S  ' 

111 


'I  ji 


94 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  They  marched  straight  for  their  stable." 

The  encounter  was  now  to  take  place.  Robert 
Day  braced  himself  by  means  of  the  wagon-tongue. 

"  Then  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"I  rises  up,''  Zene  recounted  in  a  cautious  whisper, 
"  draws  back  the  boot,  and  throws  with  all  my 
might." 

"  Not  at  the  woman  ?  "  urged  Bobaday. 

"  I  wanted  to  break  her  first,"  apologized  Zene. 
*'  She  was  worse  than  the  man.  But  I  missed  her 
and  hit  him." 

Robert  was  glad  Zene  aimed  as  he  did. 

"  Then  the  man  jumps  and  yells,  and  the  woman 
jumps  and  yells,  and  the  old  gray  he  rears  up  and 
breaks  loose.  He  run  right  past  the  straw  pile,  and 
before  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson,  I  had  him  by 
the  hitch-strap  —  it  was  draggin'  —  and  hoppin' 
against  the  straw,  I  jumped  on  him." 

"Jack  Robinson,"  Zene's  hearer  tried  half-audi- 
bly.  "Then  what?  Did  the  man  and  woman 
run?"  •      ,        ■,    \ 

"  I  makes  old  Gray  jump  the  straw  pile,  and  I 
comes  at  them  just  like  I  rose  out  of  the  ground ! 
Yes,"  acknowledged  Zene  forbearingly,  "  they  run. 
Maybe  they  run  toward  the  house,  and  maybe  they 
run   the    other   way.     I    got   a-holt  of   old    White's 


c 

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c. 
•/. 

0 


Mi 


ZENE  S    MAN    AND    WOMAN. 


97 


hitch-strap  and  my  boot ,  then  I  cantered  out  and 
hitched  up,  and  went  along  the  road  real  lively.  It 
wasn't  till  towards  mornin'  that  I  turned  off  into  the 
woods  and  tied  up  for  a  nap.  Yes,  I  slept  part  of 
the  night  iTi  the  wagon." 

Robei  L  Fifted  all  these  harrowing  circumstances. 

''''Maybe  they  weren't  stealing  the  horses,"  he 
hazarded.  "  Don't  folks  ever  unhitch  other  folks' 
horses  to  put  'em  in  their  stable  ?  " 

Zene  drew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth  to  express 
impatience. 

"But  I'd  hated  to  been  there,"  Robert  hastened  to 
add. 

"  I  guess  you  would,"  Zene  observed  in  a  lofty, 
but  mollified  way,  "  if  you'd  seen  the  pile  of 
bones  I  passed  down  the  road  a  piece  from  that 
house." 

"  Bones  ? " 

"  Piled  all  in  a  heap  at  the  edge  of  the  woods." 

"  What  kind  of  bones,  Zene  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  get  out  to  handle  'em.  Put  I  see 
one  skull  about  the  size  of  yours,  with  a  cap  on  about 
the  size  of  yours." 

This  was  all  that  any  boy  could  ask.  Robert 
uttered  a  derisive  "  Ho  1  "  but  he  sat  and  meditated 
with  pleasure  on  the  pile  of  bones.     It  cast  a  lime- 


I 


1'; 


p    m 


Mh 


! 


98 


OLD    CARAVAN     DAYS. 


,a 


1 


white  glitter  on  the  man  and  woman  who  but  for  that 
might  have  been  harmless. 

"  I  didn't  git  much  rest,"  concluded  Zene.  "  I 
could  drop  off  sound  now  if  I'd  let  myself." 

"  I'll  drive,"  proposed  Bobaday. 

Zene  reluctantly  considered  this  offer.  The  road 
ahead  looked  smooth  enough.  "  1  guess  there's  no 
danger  unless  you  run  into  a  fence  corner,"  he 
remarked. 

"  I  can  drive  as  well  as  Grandma  Padgett  can,"  said 
Robert  indignantly. 

Zene  wagged  his  head  as  if  unconvinced.  He  never 
intended  to  let  Robert  Day  be  a  big  boy  while  he 
stayed  with  Ine  family. 

"Your  gran'marm  knows  how  to  handle  a  horse. 
Now  if  I's  to  crawl  back  and  take  a  nap,  and  you's  to 
run  the  team  into  any  accident,  I'd  have  to  bear  all 
the  blame." 

Robert  protested  :  and  when  Zene  had  s^^ifted  his 
responsibility  to  his  satisfaction,  he  crept  back  and 
leaned  against  the  goods,  falling  into  a  sound  sleep. 

The  boy  drove  slowly  forward.  It  seemed  that  old 
gray  and  old  white  also  felt  last  night's  vigils.  They 
drowsed  along  with  their  heads  down  through  a  land- 
scape that  shimmered  sleepily. 

Robert  thought  of  gathering  apples  in  the  home 


ZENE  S   MAN   AND    WOMAN. 


99 


orchard:  of  the  big  red  ones  that  used  to  fall  and 
split  asunder  with  their  own  weight,  waking  him 
sometimes  from  a  dream,  with  their  thump  against 
the  sod.  What  boy  hereafter  would  gather  the  sheep- 
noses,  and  watch  the  early  June's  every  day  until 
their  green  turned  suddenly  into  gold,  and  one  bite 
was  enough  to  make  you  sit  down  under  the  tree  and 
ask  for  nothing  better  in  life !  He  used  to  keep  the 
chest  in  his  room  floored  with  apples.  They  lay 
under  his  best  clothes  and  perfumed  them.  His  nose 
knew  the  breath  of  a  russet,  and  in  a  dark  cellar  he 
could  smell  out  the  bell-flower  bin.  The  real  poor 
people  of  the  earth  must  be  those  who  had  no 
orchards;  who  could  not  clap  a  particular  comrade  of 
a  tree  on  the  bark  and  look  up  to  see  it  smiling  back 
red  and  yellow  smiles  ;  who  could  not  walk  down  the 
slope  and  see  apples  lying  in  ridges,  or  pairs,  or  dot- 
ting the  grass  everywhere.  Robert  was  half-asleep, 
dreaming  of  apples.  He  felt  thirsty,  and  heard  a 
humming  like  the  buzz  of  bees  around  the  cider-press. 
He  and  aunt  Corinne  used  to  sit  down  by  the  first  tub 
of  sweet  cider,  each  with  two  straws  apiece,  and  watch 
their  faces  in  the  rosy  juice  while  they  drank.  Cider 
from  the  barrels  when  snow  was  on  the  ground, 
poured  out  of  a  pitcher  into  a  glass,  had  not  the  ec- 
static tang  of  cider  through  a  straw.     The  bees  came 


m 

W 


I 


'  fF 

I 

1 

!  I  >  I .. . 

100 


OLD   CARAVAN   DAYS. 


to  the  very  edge  of  the  tub,  as  if  to  dispute  such  hiv- 
ing of  diluted  honey ;  and  more  of  them  came,  from 
hanging  with  bent  bodies,  around  the  dripping  press. 
Their  buzz  increased  to  a  roar.  Robert  Day  woke 
keenly  up  to  find  the  old  white  and  the  old  gray  just 
creeping  across  a  railroad  track,  and  a  locomotive 
with  its  train  whizzing  at  full  speed  towards  them. 


1 


h 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


LITfLE   ANT   RED   AND    HIG    ANT    BLACK. 


A  BREATH'S  delay  must  have  been  fatal.  Robert 
had  no  whip,  but  doubling  the  lines  and  shouting 
at  the  top  of  his  voice,  he  braced  himself  and  lashed 
the  gray.  The  respectable  beast  leaped  with  aston- 
ishment, dragging  i'.s  fellow  along.  The  fore  wheels 
cleared  the  track,  and  Bobaday's  head  was  filled  with 
the  prolonged  cry  of  the  locomotive.  Zene  sprang 
up,  and  the  hind  part  of  the  wagon  received  a  crash 
which  threw  the  boy  out  at  the  side,  and  Zene  quite 
across  the  gray's  back. 

The  train  came  to  a  stop  after  running  a  few  yards 
further.  But  finding  that  no  lives  were  lost,  it  put 
on  steam  and  disappeared  on  its  course,  and  Zene 
and  his  trembling  assistant  were  trying  to  prop  up 
one  corner  of  the  wagon  when  Grandma  Padgett 
brought  her  spectacles  to  bear  upon  the  scene. 

One  hind  wheel  had  been  splintered  by  the  train, 

lOI 


m^ 


102 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


I  J 


the  leap  of  the  gray  turning  the  wagon  from  the 
road.  Grandma  Padgett  preserved  her  composure 
and  asked  few  questions.  Her  Ups  moved  at  fre- 
quent intervals  for  a  long  time  after  this  accident. 
But  aunt  Corinne  flew  out  of  the  carriage,  and  felt 
her  nephew's  arms  and  wailed  over  the  bump  his 
cheek  received,  and  was  sure  his  legs  were  broken, 
and  that  Zene  limped  more  than  ever,  and  that  the 
train  had  run  straight  across  their  prostrate  torms. 

Zene  busied  himself  with  shamefaced  eagerness 
in  getting  the  wagon  off  the  road  and  preparing  to 
hunt  a  shop.  He  made  piteous  grimaces  over  every 
strap  he  unfastened. 

"  We  cannot  leave  the  goods  standing  here  in  the 
wagon  with  nobody  to  watch  em,"  said  the  head  of 
the  caravan.  "  It's  nigh  dinner-time,  and  we'll  camp 
in  sight,  and  wait  till  we  can  all  go  on  together.  A 
merciful  Providence  has  brought  us  along  safe  so  far. 
We  mustn't  gii  separated  and  run  ourselves  into  any 
more  dangers  than  we  can  help." 

Zene  lingered  only  to  pitch  the  camp  and  find 
water  at  a  spring  running  down  into  a  small  creek. 
Then  he  bestrode  one  of  the  wagon  horses,  and,  carry- 
ing the  broken  wheel-hubs,  trotted  away. 
*  Grandrna  Padgett  tucked  up  her  dress,  took  pro- 
visions  from   the   wagon,    and   got    dinner.       Aunt 


LITTLE   ANT   RED   AND    TAG    ANT   BLACK.         I03 


Ccrinne  and  her  nephew  made  use  of  this  occasion 
to  lay  in  a  supply  of  nuts  for  winter.     The  nuts  were 


bobaday's  narrow  escape. 


old  ones,  lying  under  last  autumn's  leaves,  and  before 
a  large  heap  had  been  gathered,  aunt  Ccrinne  be- 
thought her  to  examine  if  they  were  fit  to  eat.     They 


III 


"i  t 


i 


III 


pi 

II 


104 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


were  not;  for  besides  an  ancient  flavor,  the  first  ker- 
nel betrayed  tlie  fact  that  these  were  pig-nuts  instead 
of  hickory.  v  . 

"You  would  have  'em/'  said  Bobaday,  kicking  the 
pile,     "  I  didn't  think  they's  good,  anyhow." 

"  They  lookod  just  like  our  little  hickories,"  said 
aunt  Corinne,  twisting  her  mouth  at  the  acrid  kernel, 
"  that  used  to  lay  under  that  tree  in  the  pasture.  And 
their  shells  are  as  sound."  • 

But  there  was  compensation  in  two  saplings  which 
submitted  to  be  rode  as  teeters  part  of  the  idle 
afternoon. 

Grandma  Padgett  had  put  away  the  tea  things 
before  Zene  returned.  He  brought  with  him  a 
wagon-maker  from  one  of  the  villages  on  the  'pike. 
The  wagon-maker,  after  examining  the  disabled 
vehicle,  and  getting  the  dimensions  of  the  other  hind 
wheel  which  Zene  had  forgotten  to  take  to  him, 
assured  the  party  he  would  set  them  up  all  light  in  a 
day  or  two.  • 

Grandma  Padgett  was  sitting  on  a  log  knitting. 

"We'd  better  have  kept  to  the  'pike,"  she  re- 
marked. 

"  Yes,  marm,"  responded  Zene. 

"  The  toll-gates  would  be  a  small  expense  compared 
to  this." 


■S; 


LITTLE   ANT   RED   AND    BIG  ANT   BLACK. 


lOS 


"Yes,  indeed,  marm,"  responded  Zene,  grimacing 
piteously. 

"  Still,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  "  we  have  much  to 
e  thankful  for,  in  that  our  lives  and  health  have 
been  spared." 

"  Oh,  yes,  marm  !  yes.  marm  ! "  responded  Zene. 

The  wagon-maker  hung  by  one  careless  leg  to 
his  'lorse  before  cantering  off,  and  inquired  iVith 
neighborly  interest :  ,  . 

"  How  far  West  you  folks  goin' ?  " 

"  We'-e  goin'  to  Illinois,"  replied  Grandma  Padgett. 

'*  Oh,  pshaw,  now  !  "  said  the  wagon-maker.  "  Goin' 
to  the  Eeleenoy  !  that's  a  good  ways.  Ain't  you  'fraid 
you'll  never  git  back  .?" 

"We  ain't  expectin'  to  come  back,"  said  Grandma 
Padgett.     "  My  son's  settled  there." 

"  He  has  !  "  said  the  wac;on-maker  with  an  accent 
of  surprise.  "  Well,  well !  they  say  that's  an  awful 
country." 

"My  son  writes  back  it's  as  fine  land  as  he  ever 
saw,"  said  Grandma  Padgett  with  dignity  and  proper 
local  pride. 

"  But  the  chills  is  so  bad,"  urged  the  v;agon-maker, 
who  looked  as  if  he  had  experienced  them  at  their 
worst.  "  And  the  milk-sick,  they  say  the  milk-sick  is 
all  over  the  Eeleenoy." 


io6 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


i  i     i 


"  We're  not.  borrowing  any  trouble  about  such  things," 
said  Grandma  Padgett. 

"  Some  of  our  townsfolks  went  out  there,"  continued 
the  wagon-maker,  "but  what  was  left  of 'em  come  back. 
They  had  to  buy  their  drinkin'  water,  and  the  winters  on 
them  perrares  froze  the  children  in  their  beds !  Oh, 
I  wouldn't  go  to  the  Eeleenoy,"  said  the  wagon-maker 
coaxingly.  "You'rebetter  ofthere,  if  you  only  knew  it." 

As  Grandma  Padgett  heard  this  remonstrance  with 
silent  dignity,  the  wagon-maker  took  himself  off 
with  a  few  additional  remarks. 

Then  they  began  to  make  themselves  snug  for  the 
night.  The  wagon-cover  was  taken  off  and  made 
into  a  tent  for  Grandma  Padgett  and  aunt  Corinne. 
Robert  Day  was  to  sleep  in  the  carnage,  and  Zene 
insisted  on  sleeping  with  blankets  on  the  wagon  where 
he  could  watch  the  goods.  He  would  be  within 
calling  distance  of  the  camp. 

"We're  full  as  comfortable  as  we  were  last  night, 
anyhow,"  observed  the  head  of  the  caravan. 

Zene  said  it  made  no  difference  about  his  supper. 
He  took  thankfully  what  was  kept  for  him,  and 
Robert  Day  felt  certain  Zene  was  trying  to  bestow  on 
him  some  conscience-stricken  glances.      .  .    .  f_      «- 

It  was  an  occasion  on  which  Zene  could  b^  made 
to  tell  a  storv.     He  was  not  lavish  with  such  curious 


m 


LITTLE   ANT   RED   AND    BIG   ANT    BLACK. 


107 


ones  as  he  knew.  Robert  sometimes  suspected  him 
to  be  a  mine  of  richness,  but  it  took  such  hard  mining 
to  get  a  nugget  out  that  the  results  hardly  compen- 
sated for  the  effort. 

But  when  the  boy  climbed  upon  the  wagon  in 
stPirlight,  and  made  a  few  leading  remarks,  Zene 
'•eally  plunged  into  a  story.  He  thereby  relieved 
his  own  feelings  and  turned  the  talk  from  late  occur- 
rences. 

"  I  told  you  about  Little  Ant  Red  and  Big  Ant 
Black?" 

"  No,  you  never  !  "  exclaimed  Bobaday. 

"Well,  once  there  was  Little  Ant  Red  and  Big 
Ant  Black  lived  neighbors  " 

'*  Whose  aunts  were  they  —  each  other's  ?  "  inquired 
the  boy. 

"  They  wasn't  your  father's  or  mother's  sisters ;  they 
was  antymires,'"  explained  Zene. 

"  Oh,"  said  Robert  Day. 

"Ant  Red,  she  was  a  lit'e  bit  of  a  thing;  you 
could  just  see  her.  But  Ant  Black,  she  was  a  great 
big  critter  that  went  like  a  train  of  cars  when  she 
was  a  mind  to." 

"I  don't  like  either  kind,"  said  Robert.  "The 
little  ones  got  into  our  sugar  once,  and  Grandma  had 
to   nght  'em   out    with   camphor,    and    a  big   black 


mi 


11 


.  liji 


1 08 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


got   into   my   mouth   and    I   bit   him   in    two.     He 
pinched  my  tongue  awful,  and  he  tasted  sour." 

"Big  Ant  Black,"  continued  Zene,  "she  lived  in  a 
hill  by  a  stump,  but  Little  Ant  Red  she  lived  on  a 
leaf  up  a  tree." 

"  I  thought  they  always  crept  into  houses,"  urged 
Bobaday. 

"  This  one  didn't.  She  lived  on  a  leaf  up  a  tree. 
And  these  two  ants  run  against  each  other  in  every- 
thing. When  they  met  in  the  grass  they'd  stand  up 
on  their  hind  feet  and  shake  hands  as  friendly  as  you 
please,  but  as  soon  as  their  backs  was  turned  they'd 
talk  !  Big  Ant  Black  said  Little  Ant  Red  was  always  a 
meddling,  and  everybody  knowed  her  son  was  drowned 
in  under  the  orchard  cider-press  where  his  mother 
sent  him  to  snuff  round.  And  Little  Ant  Red  she 
used  to  tell  how  Ant  Black  was  so  graspin'  she  tried 
to  carry  that  cider-press  off  and  hide  it  in  her  hole. 

"  They  had  all  the  neighbors  takin'  sides.  There 
was  a  yellow-back  spider.  He  took  up  for  Ant  Red; 
he  hoped  to  get  a  taste  of  her,  and  Ant  Black  he 
knowed  was  big  enough  to  bite  him  unless  he  was 
mighty  soople  in  wrappin'  t'.ie  web  around  her. 
Every  mornin'  when  the  dew  stood  in  beads  on  his 
net  he  told  Ant  Red  they  was  tears  he  shed  about 
her  troubles,  and  she  run  up  and  down  and  all  around, 


I  ffl 

1^ 


LITTLE    ANT    RED    AND    BIG    ANT    BLACK. 


109 


/: 


talkin'  like  a  sawmill,  but  keepin'  just  off  the  web. 
And  there  was  Old  Grasshopper,  he  sided  with  Ant 
Red,  and  so  did  Miss  Green  Katydid.  But  all  the 
beetles,  and  them  bugs  that  lived  under  the  bark  of 
the    old   stump,  they  took  up  for  Ant  Black,  'cause 

she  was  handv.  And  the  snake-feeder  was  on  her 
side. 

"  Well,  it  run  along,  feelin's  gittin'  harder  and 
harder,  till  Ant  Black  siie  jumped  up  and  kitched  Ant 
Red  fussin'  round  her  cow  pasture  one  night,  and 
then  the  cows  began  to  give  bloody  milk,  and  then 
Ant  Black  she  give  out  that  Ant  Red  was  a  witch. 

"  Now,  these  kind  of  critters,  they're  as  smart  as 
human  bein's  if  you  only  knowed  it.  And  that  was 
enough.  The  katydid,  she  said  she  felt  pins  and 
needles  in  her  back  whenever  Ant  Red  looked  at 
her;  and  the  snake-feeders  said  she  shot  arries  at 
'em  when  they  was  fiyin'  over  a  craw-fish  hole.  All 
the  beetles  and  wood-bugs  complained  of  bein'  hit 
with  witch-bells,  and  the  more  Ant  Red  acted  care- 
ful the  more  they  had  ag'in  her. 

"Well,  the  spider  he  told  her  to  come  into  his  den 
and  live,  and  she'd  be  safe  from  hangin',  but  she 
wasn't  sure  in  her  mind  about  that.  Even  the  grass- 
hopper jumped  out  of  'her  way,  and  bunged  his  eyes 
out  at  her ;  as  if  she  could  harm  such  a  great  big  gray 


no 


OLD  CARAVAN    DAYS. 


lubber  as  him  !  She  was  gittin'  pretty  lonesome  when 
she  concluded  to  try  a  projic." 

"  What's  a  projic  ?  "  inquired  Robert  Day. 

"Why,  it's  a  —  p'epperation,  or  —  a  plan  of  some 
kind,"  explained  Zene. 

"  So  she  invites  Big  Ant  Black  and  all  her  family, 
and  the  spider  and  all  his  family,  and  the  beetles 
and  bugs  and  all  their  families,  and  the  snake-feeders 
and  M"ss  Katydid  for  young  folks,  and  don't  leave 
out  a  neighbor,  to  an  apple-bee  right  inside  the 
orchard  fence. 

"  So  it  was  pleasant  weather,  and  they  all  come 
and  brung  the  babies,  the  old  grasshopper  skippin' 
along  as  nimble  and  steppin'  on  the  shawl  that  was 
wrapped  round  his  young  one.  And  the  snake-feeders 
they  helped  Miss  Katydid  over  the  lowest  fence-rail, 
and  here  come  Big  Ant  Black  with  such  a  string 
behind  her  it  looked  like  a  funeral  instead  of  a 
family  percession ;  and  she  twisted  her  neck  from 
side  to  side  as  soon  as  she  see  the  great  big  apple, 
kind  of  wonderin'  if  they  couldn't  carry  it  off. 

"Little  Ant  Red  had  all  her  children's  heads 
combed  and  the  best  cheers  set  out,  and  she  had  on 
her  good  dress  and  white  apron,  and  she  says  right 
and  left,  '  Hoddy-do,  sir  ?  hoddy-do,  marm  ?  Come 
right  in  and  take  cheers.'     And  they  all  shook  hands 


LITTLE   ANT    RED    AND    BIG    ANT    BLACK. 


Ill 


with  -^r  as  if  tiiey'd  never  dreamt  of  callin'  her  a 
witch,  and  fell  right  on  to  the  apple  and  begun  to  eat. 
And  they  all  e't  and  e't,  till  they'd  made  holes  in  the 
rind  and  hollered  it  out.  And  Big  Ant  Black  she  gits 
her  family  started,  and  they  carries  off  chunk  after 
chunk  of  that  apple  till  the  road  was  black  and  white 
speckled  between  her  house  and  the  apple-tree. 

"  Little  Ant  Red  she  walks  around  ur^in'  them  all 
to  help  theirselves,  and  that  made  them  all  feel  pleas- 
ant to  her.  But  Big  Ant  Black  she  got  so  graspin' 
and  eager,  that  what  does  she  do  but  try  to  help  her 
young  ones  carry  off  the  whole  apple-shell.  It  did 
look  jub'ous  to  see  such  a  big  thing  movin'  off  with 
such  little  critters  tuggin'  it.  And  then  Ant  Red  got 
on  to  a  clover-head  aiid  showed  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany what  Ant  Black  was  a-doin'.  Says  Ant  Red  i 
*You  ain't  e't  more'n  a  mouthful,  Mr.  Grasshopper.' 

"  *  No,  marm,'  says  he. 

"  '  I  s'ze  to  myself,'  says  Ant  Red,  '  here  is  this 
polite  company,  and  the  snake-feeders  don't  touch 
nothin,'  and  everybody  knows  Miss  Katydid  lives  on 
nothin'  but  rose-leaf  butter,  and  the  bugs  and  beetles 
will  hardly  take  enough  to  keep  'em  alive.'  *  And  I 
s'^e  to  myself,'  says  Ant  Red,  *  here's  this  big  apple 
walkin'  off  with  nobody  but  Ant  Black  to  move  it. 
This  great  big  sound  apple.     And  it  looks  to  me  like 


,v 


M     I  m 


fit 


t 


IH  i  it 


si-Uf 


112 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


witchcraft.    That's  what  it  looks  like,'  says  Ant  Red. 

"They  all  declared  it  looked  just  like  witchcraft. 
Ant  Black  tried  to  show  them  how  holler  the  apple 
was,  and  they  declared  if  she'd  hollered  it  that  way  so 
quick,  it  was  witchcraft  certain. 

"  So  what  does  they  do  but  pen  her  and  her  young 
ones  in  the  apple-shell  and  stop  it  up  with  mud. 
Even  the  mud-wasps  and  tumble-bugs  that  hadn't  been 
bid  come  and  took  part  when  they  see  the  dirt  a-flyin'. 
Ant  Red  set  on  the  clover-head  and  teetered. 

"  Now,  dcwn  to  this  present  minute,"  concluded 
Zene,  *'  you  never  pick  up  an  apple  and  find  a  red  ant 
walkin'  out  of  it.  If  ants  is  there,  it's  one  of  them 
poor  black  fellers  that  was  shut  up  at  the  apple-bee, 
and  they  walk  out  brisk;  as  if  they's  glad  to  find  day- 
light once  more." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE   GREAT  CAMP   MEETING. 

TOWARDS  evening  of  the  next  day  the  broken 
wagon  wheel  was  replaced.  By  that  time  the 
children  were  not  more  anxious  to  move  forward  than 
was  Grandma  Padgett.  So  just  before  sunset  they 
broke  up  camp  and  moved  along  the  country  road  until 
the  constellations  were  swinging  overhead.  Zene  took 
the  first  good  crossway  that  led  to  the  'pike,  and 
after  waiting  to  be  sure  that  the  noses  of  Old  Hickory 
and  Old  Henry  were  following,  he  jogged  between 
dewy  fence  lows,  and  they  came  to  the  broad  white 
ribbon  of  high  road,  and  in  time  to  the  village  of 
Somerford,  having  progressed  only  ten  miles  that 
day.  "  ■  !i:.'-^'^ "■.."-  ■      "- .  •..■'   :v.  ,/, 

Bobaday  and  Corinne  were  so  sleepy,  and  their 
departure  from  Somerford  next  morning  was  taken  at 
such  an  early  hour,  that  they  remembered  it  only  as 
a  smell  of  tallow  candles  in  the  night,  accompanied 
f)y  a  landlady's  head  in  a  ruffled  nigUtcap. 

"3 


H'l 


114 


OLD   CARAVAN   DAYS. 


Very  different  was  Springfield,  the  county  seat  of 
Clark  County.  That  was  a  town  with  people  moving 
briskly  about  it,  and  long  streets  could  be  seen,  where 
pleasant  houses  were  shaded  with  trees. 

Zene  inquired  the  names  of  all  small  places  as 
soon  as  they  entered  the  main  street,  and  then,  oblig- 
ingly halting  the  wagon  at  one  side,  he  waited  until 
Grandma  Padgett  came  up,  and  told  her.  He  learned 
and  announced  the  cities  long  before  any  of  them, 
came  into  view.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  Bobaday  and 
au'it  Corinne  to  ride  into  a  town  repeating  its  name 
to  themselves  and  trying  to  fasten  its  identity  on 
their  minds.  First  they  would  pass  a  gang  of 
laborers  working  on  the  road,  or  perhaps  a  man  walk- 
ing up  and  down  telegraph  poles  with  sharp-shod 
heels ;  then  appeared  humble  houses  with  children 
playing  thickly  arouvjd  them.  Finer  buildings 
crowded  on  the  sight,  and  where  the  signs  of  business 
flaunted,  were  women  and  little  children  in  pretty 
clothes,  always  going,  somewhere  to  buy  something 
nice.  Once  they  met  a  long  procession  of  carriages, 
and  in  the  first  carriage  aunt  Corinne  beheld  and 
showed  to  her  nephew  a  child's  coffin  made  of  metal. 
It  glittered  in  the  sun.  Grandma  Padgett  said  it 
was  zinc.  But  aunt  Corinne  secretly  suspected  it 
was  made  of  gold,  to  enclose  some  dear  little  baby 


THE  GREAT    CAMP    MEETING. 


"5 


whose  mother  would  not   pjt  it  into  anything  jlse. 

At  New  Carlisle,  a  sleepy  little  village  where  the 
dogfennel  was  wonderfully  advanced  for  June,  Zene 
took  the  gray  from  the  wagon  and  hitched  him  to  the 
carriage,  substituting  Old  Hickory.  The  gray's 
shoulder  was  rubbed  by  his  collar,  and  Zene  rea- 
soned that  the  lighter  weight  of  the  carriage  would 
give  him  a  better  chance  of  healing  his  bruise.  Thus 
paired  the  horses  looked  comical.  Hickory  and 
Henry  evidently  considered  the  change  a  disgrace  to' 
them.  But  they  made  the  best  of  it  and  uttered  no 
protest,  except  keeping  as  wide  a  space  as  possible 
between  themselves  and  their  new  mates.  But  the 
gray  and  white,  old  yoke  fellows  at  the  plough,  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  dignity  of  carriage  drawing,  and 
cared  less,  who  had  rubbed  noses  and  shared  feed- 
boxes  ever  since  they  were  colts,  both  lifted  up  their 
voices  in  mournful  whinneys  and  refused  comfort  and 
correction.  The  white  turned  his  bead  back  over  his 
shoulder  and  would  have  halted  anywhere  until  his 
mate  came  up ;  while  the  gray  strained  forward, 
shaking  his  head,  and  neighing  as  if  his  throat  were 
full  of  tears  every  time  a  tree  or  a  turn  in  the  road 
hid  the  wagon. 

The  caravan  moving  to  this  irregular  and  doleful 
music,    passed    through   another  little  town    which 


It    i¥^. 


iti  I 

k     1 


ii6 


OLD  CARAVAN    DAYS. 


,i! 


f 


«l 


Zene  said  was  namexl  Boston,  late  on  a  rainy  after- 
noon. Here  they  crossed  the  Miami  River  in  a 
bridge  through  the  cracks  of  which  Robert  Day  and 
Corinne  looked  at  the  full  but  not  very  wide  stream. 
It  flowed  beneath  them  in  comparative  silence.  The 
rain  pricked  the  water's  surface  into  innumerable 
pucktrs. 

"Little  boys  dancing  up,"  said  aunt  Corinne,  in 
time-honored  phrase. 

"  No  ;  it's  bees  stingin'  the  water,"  said  her  nephew, 
"with  long  stingers  that  reach  clear  out  of  the  clouds." 

These  sky-bees  stung  the  dusty  road  until  it  lay 
first  in  dark  dimples  and  last  in  swollen  mud  rows 
and  shallow  pools.  The  'pike  kept  its  dignity  under 
the  heaviest  rains.  Its  very  mud  was  light  and 
plaster-like,  scarcely  clinging  to  the  wheels  or  soiling 
the  horses'  legs.  Its  flint  ribs  rung  more  sharply 
under  the  horses'  shoes.  Through  the  damp  dusk 
aunt  Corinne  took  pleasure  in  watching  the  fire 
struck  by  old  Henry  and  the  gray,  against  the  trick- 
ling stones.  They  pulled  the  carriage  curtains  down, 
and  Grandma  Padgett  had  the  oilcloth  apron  drawn 
up  to  her  chin,  v/hile  she  continued  to  drive  the 
horses  through  a  slit.  The  rear  of  the  wagon  made 
a  blur  ahead  of  them.  Now  the  'pike  sides  faded 
from  fresh  green   to  a  general   dulness,  and   trees 


1  ^ 

t  i 

b  J 


THE   GREAT    CAMP    MEETING. 


119 


whispering  to  the  rain  lost  their  vistas  and  indenta- 
tions of  shade,  and  became  a  solid  wall  down  which 
a  steady  pour  hissed  with  settled  monotony.  Bos- 
well  and  Johnson  no  longer  foraged  at  die  'pike  sides, 
or  lagged  behind  or  scampered  ahead.  They  knew 
it  was  a  rainy  October  night  without  lightning  and 
thunder,  slipped  by  mistake  into  the  packet  of  June 
weather;  and  they  trotted  invisibly  under  the  car- 
riage, carrying  their  tails  down,  and  their  lolling 
tongues  close  to  ^he  puddles  they  were  obliged 
to  scamper  through  or  skip.  Boswell  and  Johnson 
remembered  their  experiences  at  the  lonesome 
Susan  house,  where  they  lay  in  the  deep  weeds 
and  were  forgotten  until  morning  by  the  harassed 
family ;  and  they  rolled  their  eyes  occasionally,  with 
apprehension  lest  the  grinding  of  the  wheels  should 
cease,  and  some  ghostly  wall  loom  up  at  one  side  of 
their  way,  unlighted  by  a  single  glimmer  and  unper- 
fumed  by  any  whiff  of  supper.  It  was  a  fine  thing  to 
be  movers'  dogs  when  the  movers  went  into  camp  or 
put  up  in  state  at  a  tavern.  Around  a  camp  were  all 
sorts  of  v/oodsy  creatures  to  be  scratched  out  of 
holes  or  chased  up  trees,  or  to  be  nosed  and  chewed 
at.  There  were  stray  and  half-wild  pigs  ihat  had 
tails  to  be  bitten,  and  what  could  be  more  exhilarat- 
ing than  making  a  drove  of  grunting  pigs  canter  likg 


'■)'!  *' 


»^ 


' 


I20 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


I 


a  hailstorm  away  into  deep  woods !  And  in  the 
towns  and  villages  all  resident  dogs  came  to  call  on 
^Boswell  and  Johnson.  At  every  tavern  Boswell 
picked  a  fight  and  Johnson  fought  it  out ;  sometimes 
retiring  with  his  tail  to  the  earth  and  a  sad  expression 
of  being  outnumbered,  but  oftener  a  victor  to  have 
his  wounds  dressed  and  bandaged  by  Boswell 's 
tongue.  There  was  plenty  to  eat  at  taverns  and 
camps,  and  good  hunting  in  the  woods ;  but  who 
could  tell  what  hungry  milestone  might  stand  at  the 
end  of  this  day's  journey  ? 

Grandma  Padgett  herself  was  beginning  to  feel 
anxious  on  this  subject.  She  drove  faster  in  order 
to  overtake  Zene  and  consult  with  him,  but  before 
his  attent'jn  could  be  attracted,  both  carriage  and 
wagon  reached  a  broad  belt  of  shine  stretching 
across  the  'pike,  and  making  trees  in  the  meadow 
opposite  stand  out  as  distinct  individuals. 

This  illumination  came  from  many  camp-fires  ex- 
tending so  far  into  the  woods  that  the  last  one  showed 
like  a  spark.  A  great  collection  of  moving  wagons 
were  ranged  in  line  along  the  extent  of  these  fires, 
and  tents  pitched  under  the  dripping  foliage  revealed 
children  playing  within  their  snug  cover,  or  women 
spreading  the  evening  meal.  Kettles  were  hung 
above  the  fires,  and  skillets  hissed  on  the  coals.     The 


THE    GREAT    CAMP    MEETING. 


121 


horses,  tied  to  theii  feed-boxes,  were  stamping  and 
grinding  their  feed  in  content,  and  the  gray  lifted  up 
his  voice  to  neigh  at  the  whole  collection  as  Grandma* 
Padgett  stopped  just  behind  Zene.  All  the  camp 
dogs  leaped  up  the  'pike  together,  and  Boswell  and 
Johnson  met  them  in  a  neutral  way  while  showing 
the  teeth  of  defence.  To  Boswell  and  Johnson  as 
well  as  to  their  betters,  this  big  and  well-protected 
encampment  had  an  inviting  look,  provided  the 
campers  were  not  to  be  shunned.  -   . 

A  man  came  up  the  'pike  side  through  the  rain 
and  kicked  some  of  the  dogs  aside.    ' 

"  Hullo,"  said  he  most  cheerfully.     "  Want  to  put 


up 


?  " 


"What  is  It  ?  "  inquired  Zene  cautiously.  He  then 
craned  his  neck  around  to  look  at  Grandma  Padgett, 
wh  se  specvacles  glared  seriously  at  the  man.    >     -    * 

This  hospitable  traveller  wore  a  red  shirt  and  a 
slouched  hat,  and  had  his  trousers  tucked  in  his  boots. 
He  pulled  off  his  hat  to  shake  the  rain  away,  and 
showed  bushy  hair  and  a  smiling  bearded  face.  No 
weather  could  hurt  him.     He  was  ready  for  anything. 

"  Light  down,"  he  exclaimed.  '*  Plenty  of  room 
over  there  if  you  want  it." 

"Who's  over  there?  "  inquired  Zene. 

"Oh,  it's  a  big  camp-meeting,"  replied  the  man, 


«■  W*.i 


i     '0. 


I 


•iril 


~!t>  'I 


122 


OLD  CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  There's  twenty  or  thirty  families,  and  lots  of  fun." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  inquired  Grandma  Padgett,  "  a 
camp-meeting  for  religious  purposes  ?  " 

"  You  can  have  that  if  you  want  it,"  responded  the 
man,  "  and  have  your  exhorters  along.  It's  a  family 
camp.  Most  of  us  going  out  to  Californy.  Goin'  to 
cross  the  plains.  Some  up  in  the  woods  there  goin'  to 
Missoury.  Don't  care  where  they're  goin'  if  they 
want  to  stop  and  camp  with  us.  IVe're  from  the  Pan 
Handle  of  Virginia.  There's  a  dozen  families  or 
more  of  us  goin'  out  to  Californy  together.  The  rest 
just  happened  along." 

"I'm  a  Virginian  myself,"  said  Grandma  Padgett, 
warming,  *'  though  Ohio's  been  my  State  for  many 
years." 

"  Well,  now,"  exclaimed  the  mover,  "  if  you  want 
to  light  right  down,  we'll  be  all  the  gladder  for  that. 
I  saw  you  stoppin'  here  uncertain  ;  and  there's  the 
ford  over  Little  Miami  ahead  of  you.  I  thought 
you'd  not  like  to  try  it  in  the  dark." 

"You're  not  like  a  landlord  back  on  the  road  that 
let  us  risk  our  necks  !  "  said  Grandma  Padgett  with 
appreciation.  "  But  if  you  take  everybody  into  camp 
ain't  you  afraid  of  getting  the  wrong  sort  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  the  Virginian.  "  There's  enough 
of  us  to  overpower  themr 


m:\ 


THE   GREAT   CAMP    MEETING. 


123 


"  Well,  Zene,"  said  Grandma    Padgett,  "  I   guess 
we'd   better    stop    here.      We've   provisions   in   our 


i> 


wagon 

"How  far  you  goin*?"  inquired  the  hospitable 
mover.       - 

'*  Into  Illinois,"  replied  the  head  of  the  small  cara- 
van. 

"  Your  trip'U  soon  be  done,  then.  Come  on,  now, 
and  go  to  Californy,  why  don't  you !  That's  the 
country  to  get  rich  in  !  You'll  see  sights  the  other 
side  of  the  Mississippi !  " 

"I'm  too  old  for  such  undertakings,"  said  Grand- 
ma Padgett,  passing  over  the  mover's  exuberance 
with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  we  have  a  granny  over  ninety  with  us  ! " 
he  declared.  "  Now's  the  lime  to  start  if  you  want 
to  see  the  great  western  country." 

Zene  drove  off  the  'pike  on  the  temporary  track 
made  by  so  many  vehicles,  and  Grandma  Padgett 
followed,  the  Virginian  s'.  .wing  the'n  a  good  spot 
near  the  liveliest  part  of  the  camp,  upon  which  they 
might  pitch. 

The  family  sat  in  the  carriage  while  Zene  took  out 
the  horses,  sheltered  the  wagon  under  thick  foliage 
where  rain  scarcely  penetrated,  and  stretched  the 
canvas  for  z,  tent,     Then  Grandma  Padgett  put  on 


J  ij 


ill 


' 


124 


OLD    CARAVAN     DAYS. 


her  rubber  overshoes,  pinned  a  shawl  about  her 
and  descended ;  and  their  fire  was  soon  burning, 
their  kettle  was  soon  boiling,  in  defiance  of  water 
streams  which  frequently  trickled  from  the  leaves  and 
fell  on  the  coals  with  a  hiss.  The  firelight  shone 
through  slices  of  clear  pink  ham  put  down  to  broil. 
Aunt  Corinne  laid  the  cloth  on  a  box  which  Zene 
look  out  of  the  wagon  for  her,  and  set  the  cups  and 
saucers,  the  sugar  and  preserves,  and  little  seed  cakes 
which  -ew  tenderer  the  longer  you  kept  them,  all 
in  tempting  order.  They  had  baker's  bread  and 
gingercakes  in  the  carriage.  Since  her  adventure 
at  the  Susan  house,  Grandma  Padgett  had  taken 
care  to  put  provisions  in  the  carriage  pockets.  Then 
aunt  Corinne,  assisted  by  her  nephew,  got  potatoes 
from  the  sack,  wrapped  them  in  wet  wads  of  paper, 
and  roasted  them  in  the  ashes.  A  potato  so  roasted 
may  be  served  up  with  a  scorched  and  hardened 
shell,  but  its  heart  is  perfumed  by  all  the  odors  of 
the  woods.  It  tastes  better  than  any  other  potato, 
and  while  the  butter  melts  through  it  you  wonder 
that  people  do  not  fire  whole  fields  and  bake  the 
crop  in  hot  earth  before  digging  it,  to  store  for 
winter. 

'  Zene  had  frequently  assured  Robert  Bay  that  an 
egg  served  this  way  was  better  still.     He  said  he 


bobaday's  canopied  throne. 


i 


^irl 


'1 

'in 


•II 


k 


THli  GREAT   CAMP    MEETING. 


127 


used    to    roast   eggs    in   the   ashes    when   burning 

stumps,  and  you  only  needed  a  little  salt  with 
them,  to  make  them  fit  for  a  king.  But  Robert 
Day  scorned  the  egg  and  remained  true  to  the 
potato. 

While  they  were  at  supper  the  Virginian's  wife 
came  to  see  them*  carrying  in  her  hand  an  offer- 
ing of  bird-pie.  Grandma  Padgett  responded  with 
a  dish  of  preserves.  And  they  then  talked  about 
the  old  State,  trying  to  discover  mutual  interests 
there.  ^,  ,,  ■,■         ;  .,■•.•     , 

The  Virginian's  wife  was  a  strong,  handsome, 
cordial  woman.  Her  family  came  from  the  Pan 
Handle,  but  from  the  neighborhood  of  Wheeling. 
They  were  not  mountaineers.  She  had  six  chil- 
dren. They  were  going  to  California  because  her 
husband  had  the  mining  fever.  He  wanted  to  go 
years  before,  but  she  held  out  against  it  until  she 
saw  he  would  do  no  good  unless  he  went.  So  they 
sold  their  land,  and  started  with  a  colony  of  neigh- 
bors. 

The  names  of  all  her  relatives  were  sifted, 
and  Grandma  Padgett  made  a  like  search  among 
her  own  kindred,  and  they  discovered  that  an 
uncle  of  one,  and  a  grandfather  of  the  other,  had 
been  acquainted,  and   served   togetiier   in   the  War 


I  ] 

1 


V' 


It  I 


^rJi 


u 


m 


128 


OLD  CARAVAN   DAYS. 


of  'i2.  This  established  a  bond.  Grandma  Pad- 
gett was  gently  excited,  and  told  Bobaday  and  Cor- 
rinne  after  the  Virginia  woman's  departure  to  her 
own  wagons,  that  she  should  feel  safe  on  account 
of  being  an  old  neighbor  in  the  camp. 


^ 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE   CRY    OF    A    CHILD    IN    THE    NIGHT. 


BUT  the  camp  was  too  exciting  to  let  the  children 
fall  asleep  early.  P'ires  were  kept  briskly  burn- 
ing, and  some  of  the  wagoners  feeling  in  a  musical 
humor,  '  shouted  songs  or  hummed  melancholy 
tunes  which  sounded  like  a  droning  accompan- 
iment to  the  rain.  The  rain  fell  with  a  contin- 
uous murmur,  and  evidently  in  slender  threads,  for 
it  scarcely  pattered  on  the  tent.  Jt  was  no  beating, 
boisterous,  drenching  tempest,  but  a  lullaby  rain, 
bringing  out  the  smell  of  barks,  of  pennyroyal  and 
May-apple  and  wild  sweet-williams  from  the  deep 
woods. 

Robert  Day  crept  out  of  the  carriage,  having  with 
him  the  oil-cloth  apron  and  a  plan.  Four  long 
sticks  were  not  hard  to  find,  or  to  sharpen  with  his 
pocket  knife,  and  a  few  knocks  drove  them  into 
the  soft  earth,  two  on  each  side  of  a  log  near  the 

129 


I 


fi 


130 


Oi,D   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


I 

I 


fire.  He  then  stretched  the  oil-cloth  over  the  sticks, 
tying  the  corners,  and  had  a  canopied  throne  in  the 
midst  of  this  lively  camp.  A  chunk  served  for  a 
footstool.  Bobaday  sat  upon  his  log,  hearing  the 
rain  slide  down,  and  feeling  exceedingly  snug.  His 
delight  came  from  that  wild  instinct  with  which 
we  all  turn  to  arbors  and  caves,  and  to  unexpected 
grapevine  bovvers  deep  in  the  woods;  the  instinct 
which  makes  us  love  to  stand  upright  inside  of 
hollow  sycamore-trees,  and  pretend  that  a  green 
tunnel  among  the  hazel  or  elderberry  bushes,  is 
the  entrance  hall  of   a  noble  <  astle. 

Bobaday  was  very  still,  lest  his  grandmother  in 
the  tent,  or  Zene  in  the  remoter  wagon,  should 
insist  on  his  retiring  to  his  uneasy  bed  again.  He 
got  enough  of  the  carriage  in  daytime,  having 
counted  all  its  buttons  up  and  down  and  cross- 
wise. The  sr-ell  of  he  leather  and  lining  cloth  was 
mixed  with  every  cdor  of  the  journey.  One  can  have 
too  much  of  a  very  easy,  well-made  carriage. 

The  firelight  revealed  him  in  his  thoughtful  mood : 
a  very  white  boy  v»rith  glistening  hair  and  expanding 
large  eyes  of  a  gray  and  velvet  texture.  Some  light 
eyes  have  a  thin  and  sleepy  surface  like  inferior 
qualities  of  lining  silk ;  and  you  cannot  tell  whether 
the  expression  or  the  humors  of  the  eye  are  at  fault. 


THE   CRY   OF    A   CHILD    IN    THE    NIGHT. 


•31 


But  Nature,  or  his  own  medications  on  what  he  read 
and  saw  in  this  delicious  world,  had  given  to  Boba- 
day's  irises  a  softness  like  the  pile  of  gray  velvet, 
varied  sometimes  by  cinnamon-colored  shades. 

His  eyes  reflected  the  branches,  the  other  camp- 
fires,  and  many  wagons.  It  gave  him  the  sensation  of 
again  reading  for  the  first  time  one  of  grandfather's 
Peter  Parley  books  about  the  Indians,  or  Mr.  Irving's 
story  of  Dolph  Heyleger,  where  Dolph  approaches 
Antony  Vander  Heyden's  camp.  He  saw  the  side  of 
one  wagon-cover  dragged  at  and  a  little  night-capped 
head  stuck  out. 

"  Bobaday  !  "  whispered  aunt  Corinne,  creeping  on 
tiptoe  toward  him,  and  anxious  to  keep  him  from 
exclaiming  when  he  saw  her. 

"What  did  you  get  up  for  ? "  he  whispered  back. 

"  What  did  you  get  up  for  ? "  retaliated  aunt 
Corinne. 

Robert  Day  made  room  for  her  on  the  log  under 
the  canopy,  and  she  leaned  down  and  laced  her 
shoes  after  being  seated.  "Ma  Padgett's  just  as 
tight  asleep  !  What'd  she  say  if  she  knew  we  wasn't 
in  bed  I " 

It  was  so  exciting  and  so  nearly  wicked  to  be  out 
of  bed  and  prowling  when  their  elders  were  asleep, 
they  could  not  possibly  enjoy  the  sin  in  silence. 


it 


132 


OLD   CARAVAN     DAYS. 


"  Ain't  it  nice  ?  "  whispered  aunt  Corinne.  "  I  saw 
you  fixin'  this  little  tent,  and  then  I  sl-ip-ped  up 
and  hooked  some  of  my  clothes  on,  and  didn't  dast 
to  breathe  'fear  Ma  Padgett'd  hear  me.  There  m.ust 
be  lots  of  children  in  the  camp." 

"Yes;  I've  heard  the  babies  cryin'." 

"  Do  you  s'pose  there's  any  gipsy  folks  along.?  " 

"  Do'now,"  whispered  Bobaday  his  tone  inclining 
to  an  admission  that  gipsy  folks  might  be  along. 

"  The  kind  that  would  steal  us,"  explained  aunt 
Corinne, 

This  mere  suggestion  was  an  added  pleasure;  it 
made  them  shiver  and  look  back  in  the  bushes. 

"There  might  be  —  away  back  yonder,"  whispered 
Robert  Day,  emboldened  by  remembering  that  his 
capable  grandmother  was  just  within  the  tent,  and 
Zene  at  easy  waking  distance. 

"  But  all  the  people  will  hitch  up  and  drive  away 
in  the  morning,"  he  added,  "  and  we  won't  know  any- 
thing about  'em." 

To  aunt  Corinne  this  seemed  a  great  pity.  "  I'd 
like  to  see  how  everybody  looks,"  she  meditated. 

"  So'd  T,"  whispered  her  nephew. 

"It's  hardly  rainin'  a  drizzle  now,"  whispered 
aunt  Corinne. 

"I  get   so  tired   ridin'  all    day  long,"  whispered 


THEY  HAD  NOT  COUNTED  ON  D008, 


■;i; 


Ih 


if  It. 

13 


I 
I 


i 


Nf 


■ili  f 


ri 


I 


li 


THE  CRY   OF  A   CHILD    IN    THE   NIGHT. 


135 


Robert,  "  that  I  wish  I  was  a  '  cout  or  something, 
like  that  old  Indian  that  was  named  Trackless  in  the 
book  —  tl  \t  went  through  the  woods  and  through  the 
woods,  and  didn't  leave  any  mark  and  never  seemed 
to  wear  out.    You  remember  I  read  you  a  piece  of  it  ? " 

Aunt  Corinne  fidgeted  on  the  log. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like,"  suggested  her  nephew,  whose 
fancy  the  nighttime  stimulated,  "  to  get  on  a  flying 
carpet  and  tly  from  one  place  to  another  ? " 

Aunt  Corinne  cast  a  glance  back  over  her  shoulder. 

"  We  could  go  a  little  piece  from  our  camp-fire  and 
not  get  lost,"  she  suggested. 

"Well,"  whispered  Robert  boldly,  "le's  do  it.  Le's 
take  a  walk.     It  won't  do  anv  harm.     'Tisn't  late." 

"The's  chickens  crowin'  away  over  there."       ;      / 

"  Chickens  crow  all  times  of  the  night.  Don't  you 
remember  how  our  old  roosters  used  to  act  on  Christ- 
mas night?  I  got  out  of  bed  four  times  once, 
because  I  thought  it  was  daylight,  they  would  crow 
so !  " 

"  Which  way'll  we  take  ?  "  whispered  aunt  Corinne. 

Robert  slid  cautiously  from  the  log  and  mapped  out 
the  expedition.  , 

"Off  behind  the  wagon  so's  Zene  won't  see  us. 
And  then  we'll  slip  along  towards  that  furthest  fire. 
We  can  see  the  others  as  we  go  by.     Follow  me." 


il 


1  * 


136 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


It  was  easy  to  slip  behind  the  wagon  and  lose 
themselves  in  the  brush.  But  there  they  stumbled 
on  unseen  snags  and  were  caught  or  scratched  b) 
twigs,  and  descended  suddenly  to  a  pig-wallow  or 
other  ugly  spot,  where  Corinne  fell  down.  Bobaday 
then  thought  it  expedient  for  his  aunt  to  take  hold  of 
his  jacket  behind  and  walk  in  his  tracks,  according 
to  their  life-long  custom  when  going  down  cellar  for 
apples  after  dark.  Grandma  Padgett  was  not  a 
woman  to  pamper  the  fear  of  darkness  in  her  family. 
She  had  been  known  to  take  a  child  who  recoiled 
from  shapeless  visions,  and  lead  him  into  the 
unlighted   room   where    he   fancied    he   saw   them. 

So  after  proceeding  out  of  sight  of  their  own 
wagon,  aunt  Corinne  and  her  nephew,  toughened  by 
this  training,  would  not  have  owned  to  each  other  a 
wish  to  go  back  and  sit  in  safety  and  peace  of  nerve 
again  upon  the  log.  Robert  plodded  carefully 
ahead,  parting  the  bushes,  and  she  passed  through 
the  gaps  with  his  own  figure,  clinching  his  jacket  with 
fingers  that  tightened  or  relaxed  with  her  tremors. 

They  had  not  counted  on  being  smelled  out  by 
dogs  at  the  various  watch-fires.  One  lolling  yellow 
beast  sprang  up  and  chased  them.  Aunt  Corinne 
would  have  flown  with  screams,  but  her  nephew 
hushed  her  up  and  put  her  valiantly  on  a  very  high 


THE   CRY   OF   A   CHILD    IN   THE   NIGHT. 


137 


Stump  behind  himself.  The  dog  took  no  trouble  to 
trace  them.  He  was  too  comfortable  before  the 
brands,  too  mud-splashed  and  stiff  from  a  long  day's 
journey,  to  care  about  chasing  any  mystery  ol  the 
wood  to  its  hole.  But  this  warned  them  not  to  ven- 
ture too  near  other  fires  where  other  possible  dogs 
lay  sentry.  '  " 

"Why  didn't  we  fetch  old  Johnson?"  whispered 
aunt  Corinne,  after  they  slid  down  the  tree  stump. 

"  'Cause  Boswell'd  been  at  his  heels,  and  the 
whole  camp'd  been  in  a  fight,"  replied  Bobaday. 
"Old  Johnson  was  under  our  wagon;  1  don't  know 
where  Bos  was.     I  was  careful  not  to  wake  him." 

Through  gaps  in  foliage  and  undergrowth  they  saw 
many  an  individual  part  of  the  general  camp  ;  the 
wagon-cover  in  some  cases  being  as  dun  as  the  hide 
of  an  elephant.  When  a  curtain  was  dropped  over 
the  front  opening  of  the  wagon,  Bobaday  and  Corinne 
knew  that  women  and  children  were  sleeping  within 
on  their  chattels.  Here  a  tent  was  made  of  sheets 
and  stretched  down  with  the  branch  of  an  overhang- 
ing tree  for  a  ridge-pole ;  and  there  horse-blankets 
were  made  into  a  canopy  and  supported  by  upright 
poles.  Within  such  covers  men  were  asleep,  having 
sacks  or  comforters  for  bedding. 

On  a  few  wagon  tongues,  or  stretched  easily  before 


II 


ii 


I    ! 

li 


Ii 


f.  i 


mmmmmm 


138 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


fires,  men  lingered,  talking  in  steady,  monotonous 
voices  as  if  telling  str  ies,  or  in  indifferent  tones  as 
if  tempting  each  other  to  trades. 

The  rain  had  entirely  ceased,  though  the  spongy 
wet  wood  sod  was  not  pleasant  to  walk  upon.  "1 
guess,"  said  aunt  Corinne,  "we'd  better  go  back." 

*'  Well,  we've  seen  consider'ble,"  assented  her 
nephew.     "  I  guess  we'd  better."' 

So  he  faced  about.  But  quite  near  them  arose  the 
piercing  scream  of  a  child  in  mortal  fear. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


THE   DARKENED  \V.:iGON. 


AUNT  CORINNE  and  her  nephew  felt  pierced 
by  the  cry.  Her  hands  gripped  his  jacket 
vvitx  a  shock.  Robert  Day  turning  took  hold 
of  his  aunt's  wrist  to  pinch  her  silent,  but  his 
efforts  were  too  zealous  and  turned  her  fright  to 
indignation. 

"  I  don't  want  my  hand  pinched  off,  Bobaday 
Padgett !  "  whispered  aunt  Corinne,  jerking  away  and 
thus  breaking  the  circuit  of  comfort  and  protection 
which  was  supposed  to  flow  from  his  jacket. 

"  But  listen,"  hissed  Robert. 

"I  don't  want  to  listen,"  whispered  aunt  Corinne; 
"  I  want  to  go  back  to  our  camp-fire." 

"Nobody  can  hurt  us,"  whispered  her  nephew, 
gathering  boldness.  "  You  stay  here  and  let  me 
creep  through  the  bushes  to  that  wagon.  I  want  to 
see  what  it  was." 

"It  you  stay  a  minute    I'll   go   and   leave   you," 

«39 


ii 


^,i 


140 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


remonstrated  aunt  Corinne.  "  Ma  Padgett  don't 
want  us  off  here  by  ourselves." 

But  Robert's  hearing  was  concentrated  upon  the 
object  toward  wliich  he  moved.  He  used  Indian-like 
caution.  The  balls  of  his  large  eyes  became  so  prom- 
inent that  they  shone  with  some  of  the  lustre  of  a 
cat's  in  the  dark.  r 

Corinne  took  hold  of  the  bushes  in  his  absence. 

The  wind  was  breathing  sadly  through  the  trees 
far  off.  What  if  some  poor  little  child,  lost  in  the 
woods,  should  come  patting  to  her,  with  all  the 
wildness  of  its  experience  hanging  around  it  ?  Oh, 
the  woods  was  a  good  play-house,  on  sunshiny  days, 
but  not  the  best  of  homes,  after  all.  That  must  be 
why  people  built  houses.  When  the  snow  lay  in  a  deep 
cake,  showing  only  the  two  thumb-like  marks  at  long 
intervals  made  by  the  rabbit  in  its  leaping  flight,  and 
when  the  air  was  so  tense  and  cold  you  could  liear 
the  bark  of  a  dog  far  off,  Bobaday  used  to  say  he 
would  love  to  live  in  the  woods  all  the  time.  He 
would  chop  to  keep  himself  warm.  He  loved  to  drag 
the  air  into  his  lungs  when  it  seemed  frozen  to  a  solid. 
Corinne  remembered  how  his  cheeks  burned  and  his 
eyes  glittered  during  any  winter  exertion.  And  what 
could  be  prettier,  he  said,  than  the  woods  after  it 
sleeted   all  night,  and   hoar  frost  finished  the  job ! 


THE    DARKENED    WAGON. 


141 


Every  tree  would  stand  glittering  in  white  powder,  as 
if  dressed  for  the  grandest  occasion,  the  twigs  tipped 
with  lace-work,  and  the  limbs  done  in  tracerv  and 
all  sorts  of  beautiful  designs.  Still  this  white  dress 
was  deadly  cold  to  handle.  Aunt  Corinne  had  often 
pressed  her  fingers  into  the  velvet  crust  upon  the 
trunks.  She  did  not  like  the  winter  woods,  and 
hardly  more  did  she  like  this  rain-soaked  place,  and 
these  broad,  treacherous  leaves  that  poured  water 
down  her  neck  in  the  humid  dark. 

Bobaday  pounced  upon  her  with  such  force  when 
he  appeared  once  more,  that  she  was  startled  into 
trying  to  climb  a  bush  no  higher  than  herself. 

He  had  not  a  word  to  say,  but  hitched  his  aunt  to 
his  jacket  and  drew  her  away  with  considerable  haste. 
Ihey  floundered  over  logs  and  ran  against  stumps. 
Their  own  smouldering  fire,  and  wagon  with  the 
hoops  standing  up  like  huge  uncovered  ribs,  and  the 
tents  wherein  their  guardian  slept  after  the  fatigue  of 
the  day,  all  appeared  wonderfully  soon,  considering  the 
time  it  had  taken  them  to  reach  their  exploring  limit. 

Aunt  Corinne  huddled  by  the  coals,  and  Bodaday 
sat  down  on  the  foot-chunk  he  had  placed  for  his 
awning  throne. 

"  You  better  go  to  bed  quick  as  ever  you  can,"  he 
said. 


Ill 


ii 


!l 


H2 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  I  guess  I  ain't  goin',"  said  aunt  Corinne  with 
indignant  surprise,  "till  you  tell  me  somethin'  about 
what  was  up  in  the  bushes.  I  stayed  still  and  let  you 
look,  and  now  you  won't  tell  me  !  " 

"  You  heard  the  sound,"  remonstrated  Robert. 

"  But  I  didn't  see  anything,"  argued  aunt  Corinne. 

*'  You  wouldn't  want  to,"  said  Bobaday. 

They  were  talking  in  cautious  tones,  but  no  longer 
whispering.  It  had  become  too  tiresome.  Aunt 
Corinne  would  now  have  burst  out  with  an  exclama- 
tion, but  checked  herself  and  tilted  her  nose,  talking 
to  the  coals  which  twinkled  back  to  her  between  her 
slim  fingers. 

"  Boys  think  they  are  so  smart !  They  want  to 
have  all  the  good  times  and  see  all  the  great  shows, 
and  go  slidin'  in  winter  time,  when  girls  have  to  stay 
in  the  house  and  knit,  and  then  talk  like  they's  grown 
up,  and  we's  little  babies  !  " 

Robert  Day  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  aunt  with  superior 
compassion. 

"  Grandmu  Padgett  wouldn't  want  me  to  scare 
you,"  he  observed. 

Corinne  edged  several  inches  closer  to  him.  She 
felt  tiiat  she  must  know  what  her  nephew  had  seen 
if  she  had  to  thread  all  the  dark  mazes  again  and  look 
at  it  by  herself. 


THE    DARKENED    WAGON. 


143 


'*  Ma  Padgett  never  'lows  me  to  act  scared,"  she 
reminded  him.  "  I  always  have  to  go  up  to  what  I'm 
'fraid  of." 

"  You  won't  go  up  to  this." 

"  Maybe  I  will.  'Tisn't  so  far  back  to  that 
wagon." 

"  I  wouldn't  stir  it  up  for  considerable,"  said 
Robert. 

"Was  it  a  lion  or  a  bear?  Was  it  goin'  to  eat 
anything  ?     Is  that  what  made  the  little  child  cry  ?  " 

"  The  little  child  hollered  'cause  'twas  afraid  of  it. 
I  was  glad  you  didn't  look  in  at  the  end  of  the  wagon 
with  me."  :    /     ?      ' 

Aunt  Corinne  edged  some  ir.ches  nearer  her  pro- 
tector. 

"  How  could  you  see  what  was  in  a  dark  wagon  ? " 

"  There  was  a  candle  lighted  inside.  Aunt  Krin, 
there  was  a  little  pretty  girl  in  that  wagon  that  I  do 
believe  the  folks  stole  !  " 

This  was  like  a  story.  The  luxury  of  a  real  stolen 
child  had  never  before  come  in  aunt  Corinne's  way. 

"  Why,  Bobaday  ?  "  she  inquired  affectionately. 

"  Because  the  little  ^irl  seemed  like  she  was  dead 
till  all  at  once  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  then  her 
mouth  as  if  she  was  going  to  scream  again,  and  they 
stopped  her  mouth  up,  and  covered  her  in  clothes." 


144 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  What  did  the  wagon  look  like  ? " 

"  Like  a  little  room.  And  they  slept  on  the  Hoor. 
They  had  tin  things  hangin'  around  the  sides,  and  a 
stove  in  one  corner  with  the  pipe  stickin'  up  through 
the  cover.  And  the  cover  was  so  thick  you  couldn't 
see  a  light  through  it.  You  could  only  see  through 
the  pucker-hole  where  it  comes  together  over  the 
feed-box." 

'*  And  how  many  folks  were  there  ?  " 

"  T  don't  know.  I  saw  them  fussing  with  thr  "t- 
tle  girl,  and  1  saw  it,  and  then  I  didn't  sta^  j 
longer." 

"  What  was  it,  Bobaday  ? " 

'*  I  don't  know,"  he  solemnly  replied. 

"Yes,  but  what  did  it  look  like? " 

Her  nephew  stared  doubtingly  upon  her. 

"  Will  you  holler  if  I  tell  you  ?  " 

Aunt  Corinne  went  through  an  impressive  panto- 
mime of  deeding  and  double-deeding  herself  not  to 
holler. 

"  Will  you  be  afraid  all  the  rest  of  the  night  ? " 

No;  aunt  Corinne  intimated  that  her  courage  would 
be  revived  and  strengthened  by  knowing  the  worst 
about  that  wagon. 

He  pierced  her  with  his  dilating  eyes,  and  beck- 
oned  her  to  put  up  her  ear  for  the  information. 


THE    DARKENED    WAGON. 


»4S 


**  You  ain't  goin' to  play  any  trick,"  remonstrated 
his  relative,  "  like  you  did  when  you  got  me  to  say 
grandmother,  grandmother,  thith — thith  —  thith,  and 
then  hit  my  chin  and  made  me  bite  my  tongue  ? " 

Robert  was  forced  to  chuckle  at  the  recollection, 
but  he  assured  aunt  Corinne  that  grandmother, 
grandmother,  thith  —  thith  —  thith  was  far  from  his 
thoughts.  He  hesitated,  with  aunt  Corinne's  ear 
joggi»g  against  his  chin.  Then  in  a  loud  whisper  he 
communicated  : 

"  It  was  a  man  with  a  pig's  head  on  h'.m  !  " 


CHAPTER   XIL 


JONATHAN  ANb  THRUSTY  ELLEN. 


AUNT  CORINNE  drew  back  into  a  rig'd  attitude. 
"  1  don't  believe  it ! "  she  said. 

Robert  Day  passed  over  her  increduHty  with  a  flick- 
ering smile. 

"People  don't  have  pigs'  heads  on  them  !  "  argued 
aunt  Corinne.     "  Did  he  .<^runt .''  " 

'*  And  he  had  a  tush  stickin'  out  from  his  lower 
jaw,"  added  Robert.  > 

They  gazed  at  each  oilier  in  silent  horror.  While 
this  awful  pantomime  was  going  on,  the  flap  of 
Grandma  Padgett's  tent  was  lifted,  and  a  voice  of 
command,  expressing  besides  astonishment  and 
alarm,  startled  their  ears  with  — 

"  Children  ! " 

Aunt  Corinne  leaped  up  and  turned  at  bay, 
half-expecting  to  find  the  man  with  the  pig's 
head  gnashing  at  her  ear.  But  what  she  saw 
in  the  smKing  light  ;vas  a  fine  old  head  in  a  night- 

146 


JONATHAN    AND   THRUSTY   ELLEN. 


149 


cap,  staring  at  them  from  the  tent.  Bobaday  and 
his  aunt  were  so  rapid  in  retiring  that  their  guar- 
dian wa5  unable  to  make  them  explain  their  conduct 
as  fully  as  she  desired.  They  slept  so  long  in  the 
morning  that  the  camp  was  broken  up  when  Grandma 
Padgett  called  them  out  to  breakfast.  r 

Zene  wanted  the  tent  of  aunt  Corinne  to  stretch 
over  the  wagon-hoops.  He  had  already  hitched  the 
horses,  restoring  the  gray  and  the  white  to  their 
former  condition  of  yoke-fellows,  and  these  two 
rubbed  noses  affectionately  and  had  almost  as  much 
to  whisper  to  each  other  as  had  Robert  and  Corinne 
over  their  breakfast. 

The  darkened  wagon  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Corinne  climbed  a  tall  stump  as  an  observatory,  and 
Bobaday  went  a  piece  into  the  bushes,  only  to  find 
that  all  that  end  of  the  camp  was  gone  The  colony 
of  Virginians  was  also  partly  under  way. 

Aunt  Corinne  felt  a  certain  sadness  steal  over  her. 
She  had  brought  herself  to  admit  the  pig-headed  man, 
with  limitations.  He  might  have  a  pig's  head  on  him, 
but  it  wasn't  fast.  He  did  it  to  frighten  children. 
She  had  fully  intended  to  see  him  and  be  frightened 
by  him  at  any  cost.  Now  he  was  gone  like  a  bad 
dream  in  the  night.  And  she  should  not  know  if  the 
little  girl  was  stolen.      She  could  only  revenge  her- 


vM 


'50 


OLD   CARAVAN     DAYS. 


self  on  Robert  Day  for  having  seen  into  that  dark- 
ened wagon,  with  the  stove-pipe  sticking  out,  when 
she  had  not,  by  sniffing  doubtfully  at  every  mysteri- 
ous allusion  to  it.  They  did  not  mention  the  pig- 
headed man  to  Grandma  Padgett,  though  both  longed 
to  know  if  such  a  specimen  of  natural  h'story  had 
ever  come  under  her  eyes.  She  would  have  ques- 
tioned then  about  the  walk  that  led  to  this  discovery. 
Her  prejudices  against  children's  prowling  away  from 
their  elders  after  dark  were  very  strong. 

Aunt  Corinne  thought  the  pig-headed  man  might 
have  come  to  their  carriage  when  they  were  ready  to 
start,  instead  of  the  Virginian. 

"  Right  along  the  'pike  ?  "  he  inquired  cheerfully. 

"  I  believe  so,  "  said  Grandma  Padgett. 

"You'll  be  in  our  company  then  as  far  as  you  go. 
It'll  be  better  for  you  to  keep  in  a  big  company." 

"  It  will  indeed,  "  said  Grandma  Padgett  sincerely. 

"  Oh,  you'll  keep  along  to  Californy,  "  said  the 
Virginian. 

"  To  the  Illinois  line,  "  amended  Grandma  Padgett, 
at  which  he  laughed,  adding:  . 

"Well,  we'll  neighbor  for  a  while,  anyhow."    ,   ■     . 

"  Let  your  little  boy  and  girl  ride  in  our  carriage,  " 
Robert  Dav,  seizins  on  this  relief  from  monot- 


'fc>»* 


on^ 


'I 


JONATHAN   AND   THRUSTY    ELLEN. 


151 


"  Yes,  do, "  said  his  grandmoliier,  turning  her 
glasses  upon  the  little  boy  and  girl.  Aunt  Corinne 
had  been  inspecting  them  as  they  stood  at  their 
father's  heels,  and  bestowing  experimental  smiles 
on  them.  The  boy  was  a  clear  brown-eyed  fellow 
with  butternut  trousers  up  to  his  arm-pits,  and  a 
wool  hat  all  out  of  shape.  The  little  girl  looked  red- 
faced  and  precise,  the  color  from  her  lips  having  evi- 
dently become  diluted  through  her  skin.  Over  a 
linsey  petticoat  she  wore  a  calico  belted  apron.  The 
belt  was  as  broad  as  the  length  of  aunt  Corinne's 
hand,  for  in  the  course  of  the  morning  aunt  Corinne 
furtively  measured  i:.  Although  it  was  June  weather, 
this  little  girl  also  wore  stout  shoes  and  yarn  stock- 


ings. 


"  Well,  they  might  get  in  if  they  won't  crowd  you, " 
assented  their  father.  "  You're  all  to  take  dinner 
with  us,  my  wife  says." 

The  children  were  hoisted  up  the  steps,  which  they 
climbed  with  agile  feet,  as  if  accustomed  to  scaling 
high  cart  wheels.  Bobaday  sat  by  his  grandmother 
and  the  back  seat  received  this  addition  to  the  party 
without  at  all  crowding  aunt  Corinne.  She  looked 
the  boy  and  girl  over  with  great  satisfaction.  They 
were  near  her  own  age. 

"  Do  you  play  teeter  in  the  woods  ?  "  she  inquired 


.  m. 


u* 


52 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


with  a  fidget,  by  way  of  opening  the  conversation. 

The  boy  rolled  his  eyes  towards  her  and  replied  in 
a  slow  drawl,  sometimes  they  did. 

Robert  Day  then  put  it  to  him  whether  he  liked 


movnig. 


*'  I  like  to  ride  the  leaders  for  fawther,  "  replied 
the  boy. 

*'  What's  your  name  ?  "  inquired  aunt  Corinne, 
directing  her  inquiry  to  both. 

The  little  girl  turned  redder,  answering  in  a  broad 
drawl  like  her  brother,  "  His  name's  Jonathan  and 
mine's  Clar'sy  Ellen.  " 

Aunt  Corinne  looked  down  at  the  hind  wheel 
revolving  at  her  side  of  the  carriage,  and  her  lips 
unconsciously  moved  in  meditation. 

"  Thrusty  Ellen  !  "  she  repeated  aloud. 

"  Clar'sy  Ellen, "  corrected  the  little  girl,  her 
broad  drawl  still  confusing  the  s'^und. 

Aunt  Corinne's  lips  continued  to  move.  She  whis- 
pered to  the  hind  wheel,  "  Mercy !  If  I  was  named 
Jonathan  and  Thrusty  Ellen,  I'd  wish  my  folks  'd 
forgot  to  name  me  at  all !  " 


.•\ 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


FAIRY   CARRIE  AND   THE   PIG-HEADED   MAN. 


LITTLE  MIAMI  RIVER  was  crossed  without 
mishap,  and  the  Padgetts  and  Brockaways 
took  dinner  together. 

Robert  Day  could  not  help  noticing  the  difference 
between  his  grandmother's  wagon  and  the  wagons  of 
the  Virginians.  Their  wagon-beds  were  built  almost 
in  the  shape  of  the  crescent  moon,  bending  down  in 
the  centre  and  standing  high  at  the  ends,  and  they 
appeared  half  as  long  again  as  the  Ohio  vehicle. 
The  covers  were  full  of  innumerable  ribs,  and  the 
puckered  end  was  drawn  into  innumerable  puckers. 

The  children  took  their  dinners  to  the  yellow  top  of 
a  brand-new  stump  which  looked  as  if  somebody  had 
smoothed  every  sweet-smelling  ring  clean  on  purpose 
for  a  picnic  table.  Some  branches  of  the  felled  tree 
were  near  enough  to  make  teeter  seats  for  Corinne 
and  Thrusty  Ellen.  Jonathan  and  Robert  stood  up 
or  kneeled  against  the  arching  roots.      Dinner  taken 

»53 


Hi 


154 


OLD    CARAVAN     DAYS. 


from  the  top  of  a  stump  has  the  sap  of  out-door  enjoy- 
ment in  it ;  and  if  you  have  to  scare  away  an  ant,  or 
a  pop-eyed  grasshopper  thuds  into  the  middle  of  a 
plate,  you  still  feel  kindly  towards  these  wild  things 
for  dropping  in  so  sociably. 

Jonathan  and  Thrusty  Ellen  were  rather  silent,  but 
such  remarks  as  they  made  were  solid  information. 

"  You  don't  know  wher'  my  fawther's  got  his 
money,  "  said  Jonathan. 

This  was  stated  so  much  like  a  dare  that  Robert 
yearned  to  retort  that  he  did  know,  too.  As  he  did 
not  know,  the  next  best  thing  was  to  pretend  it  was 
no  consequence  anyhow,  and  find  out  as  quickly  as 
possible;  therefore  Robert  Day  said : 

"Ho!     Maybe  he  hasn't  any." 

"  He  has  more  gold  pieces  'n  ever  you  seen,  "  pro- 
ceeded Jonathan  weightily. 

*'  Then  why  don't  he  give  you  some  ?  "  exclaimed 
aunt  Corinne  with  a  wriggle.  "  I  had  a  gold  dollar, 
but  I  b'lieve  that  little  old  man  with  a  bag  on  his 
back  stole  it." 

Jonathan  and  Thrusty  Ellen  made  round  eyes  at  a 
young  damsel  who  had  been  trusted  with  gold. 

"  My  fawther  calls  'em  yeller  boys,"  said  Tona- 
than.  "  He  carries  'em  and  his  paper  money  in  a 
belt  fastened  round  his  waist  under  all  his  clothes." 


hi 


FAIRY  CARRIE  AND  THE  PIG-HEADED  MAN.        1 57 


"You  don't  ought  to  tell,"  said  Thrusty  Ellen. 
"  Father  said  we  shouldn't  talk  about  it." 

''^  He  won't  steal  it,"  said  Jonathan,  indicating 
Robert  with  his  thumb.  "  She  won't  neither,"  indi- 
cating aunt  Corinne. 

Aunt  Corinne  with  some  sharpness  assured  the 
Virginia  children  that  her  nephew  and  herself  were 
indeed  above  such  suspicion  ;  that  Ma  Padgett  and 
brother  Tip  had  the  most  money,  and  even  Zene  was 
well  provided  with  dollais  ;  while  they  had  silver 
spoons  among  their  goods  that  Ma  Padgett  said  had 
been  in  the  family  more  than  fifty  years ! 

Jonathan  and  Thrusty  Ellen  accepted  this  infor- 
mation with  much  stolidity.  The  grandeur  of  having 
old  silve*  made  no  impression  on  them.  They  saw 
that  Grandma  Padgett  had  one  pair  of  horses  hitched 
to  her  moving-wagon  instead  of  three  pairs,  and 
they  secretly  rated  her  resources  by  this  fact. 

It  was  very  cheerful  moving  in  this  long  caravan. 
When  there  was  a  bend  in  the  'pike,  and  the  line  of 
vehicles  curved  around  it,  the  sight  was  exhila- 
rating. 

Some  of  the  Virginians  sat  on  their  horses  to 
drive.  There  was  singing,  and  calling  back  and 
forth.  And  when  they  passed  a  toll-gate,  all  the  toll- 
keeper's  family  and  neighbors  came  out  to  see  the 


158 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


m 


array.  Jonathan  and  Robert  rode  in  his  father's 
easiest  wagon,  while  Thrusty  Ellen  and  her  mother 
enjoyed  Grandma  Padgett's  company  in  the  carriage. 

As  they  neared  Richmond,  which  lay  just  within 
the  Indiana  line,  men  went  ahead  like  scouts  to 
secure  accommodations  for  the  caravan.  At  Louis- 
burg,  the  last  of  the  Ohio  villages,  aunt  Corinne  was 
watching  for  the  boundary  of  the  State.  She  fancied 
it  stretched  like  a  telegraph  wire  from  pole  to  pole, 
only  near  the  ground,  so  the  cattle  of  one  State  could 
not  stray  into  the  other,  and  so  little  children  could 
have  it  to  talk  across,  resting  their  chins  on  the 
cord.  But  when  they  came  to  the  line  and  crossed 
it  there  was  not  even  a  mark  on  the  ground ;  not  so 
much  as  a  furrow  su^jh  as  Zene  made  planting  corn. 
And  at  first  Indiana  looked  just  like  Ohio.  Later, 
however,  aunt  Corinne  felt  a  difference  in  the  States. 
Ohio  had  many  ups  and  downs;  many  hillsides  full 
of  grain  basking  in  the  sun.  The  woods  of  Indiana 
ran  to  moss,  and  sometimes  descended  to  bogginess, 
and  broad-leaved  paw-paw  bushes  crowded  the  shade  ; 
mighty  sycamores  blotched  with  white,  leaned  over  the 
streams :  there  was  a  dreamy  influence  in  the  June  air, 
and  pale  blue  curtains  of  mist  hung  over  distances. 

But  at  Richmond  aunt  Corinne  and  her  nephew 
both  felt  particularly  wide  awake.      They  considered 


^- 


* 


FAIRY  CARRIE  AND  THE  PKJ-HEADED  MAN.        159 

it  the  finest  place  they  had  seen  since  the  capital  of 
Ohio.  The  people  wore  quaint,  but  handsome  clothes. 
They  saw  Quaker  bonnets  and  broad-brimmed  hats. 
Richmond  is  yet  called  the  Quaker  city  of  Indiana. 
But  what  Robert  Day  and  Corinne  noticed  partic- 
ularly as  the  array  of  wagons  moved  from  street  to 
street,  was  an  open  square  such  as  most  Western 
towns  had  at  that  daie  for  farmers  to  unhitch  their 
teams  in,  and  in  that  open  square  a  closely  covered 
wagon  connected  with  a  tent.  It  was  nearly  dark. 
But  at  the  tent  entrance  a  tin  torch  stuck  in  the 
ground  showed  letters  and  pictures  on  the  tent,  pro- 
claiming that  the  only  pig-headed  man  in  America 
was  therein  exhibiting  himself  and  his  accomplish- 
ments, attended  hy  Fairy  Carrie,  the  wonderful  child 
vocalist. 

Before  Bobaday  had  made  out  half  the  words,  he 
telegraphed  a  message  to  aunt  Corinne,  by  leaning  far 
out  of  the  Brockav^ay  wagon  and  lifting  his  finger. 
Aunt  Corinne  was  leaning  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
sawhim,  and  she  not  only  lifted  her  finger,  but  violently 
wagged  her  head. 

The  caravan  scouts  had  not  been  able  to  find  lodg- 
ing for  all  the  troops,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
dissatisfaction  about  the  rates  asked  by  the  taverns. 
So  many  of  the  wagons  wound  on  to  camp  at  the 


\ 


Iti 


I  i  t 


i6o 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


other  side  of  the  town,  the  Brockaways  among  them. 
But  the  neighborly  Virginian,  in  exchanging  Robert 
for  his  wife  and  daughter  at  the  carriage  door, 
assured  Grandma  Padgett  he  .would  ride  back  to  her 
lodging-place  next  morning  and  pilot  her  into  the 
party  again. 

'*  I  thank  you  kindly,"  said  Grandma  Padgett  in 
old-fashioned  phrase.  "  It's  growing  risky  for  me  to 
sleep  too  much  in  the  open  night  air.  At  my  age 
folks  must  favor  themselves,  and  I'd  like  a  bed 
to-night,  if  it  is  a  tavern  bed,  and  a  set  table,  if  the 
vittles  are  tavern  vittles.     And  we  can  stir  out  early." 

So  Thrusty  Ellen  and  Jonathan  rode  away  with 
their  father,  unconscious  of  Robert  and  Corinne's 
superior  feeling  in  stopping  at  a  tavern. 

In  the  tavern  parlor  were  a  lot  of  sumptuous  paper 
flowers  under  a  glass  case.  There  were  a  great  many 
stairs  to  climb,  and  a  gong  was  sounded  for  supper. 

After  supper  Grandma  Padgett  ipade  Zene  take  her 
into  the  stable-yard,  that  she  might  carry  from  the 
wagon  same  valuables  which  thieves  in  a  town  would 
be  tempted  to  steal. 

It  was  aboul  this  time  that  Corinne  and  Robert 
Day  strayed  down  the  front  steps,  consulted  together 
and  ventured  down  the  street,  came  back,  and 
ventured  again  to  the  next  corner.  ;,, 


FAIRY  CARRIE  AND  THE  PIO-HEADED  MAN.        l6l 


"He  gave  us  the  slip  before,"  said  Robert,  "but 
I'd  like  to  get  a  good  look  at  him  for  once." 

"  Would  you  da'st  to  spend  your  gold  dollar, 
though,"  said  aunt  Corinne.  ;         - 

"Well,  that's  better  than  losin'  it,"  he  responded. 

It  seemed  very  much  better  in  aunt  Corinne's  eyes. 

"  We  can  just  run  down  there,  and  run  right 
back  after  we  go  in,  while  Ma  Padgett  is  busy." 

"Then  we'll  have  to  be  spry,"  said  Robert  Day. 

Having  passed  the  first  corner  they  were  spry, 
springing  along  the  streets  with  their  hands  locked. 
It  was  not  hard  to  find  one's  way  about  in  Richmond 
then,  and  the  tavern  was  not  far  from  the  open 
square.  They  came  upon  the  tent,  the  smoky  tin 
torch,  the  crowd  of  idlers,  and  a  loud-voiced  youth 
who  now  stood  at  the  entrance  shouting  the  attrac- 
,  tions  within. 

Robert  dragged  his  aunt  impetuously  to  the  tent 
K  door  and  offered  his  gold  dollar  to  the  shouter. 

"  Pass  right  in,  gentlemen  and  ladies,"  said  the 
ill-looking  youth  in  his  monotonous  yell,  bustling  as 
i  if  he  had  a  rush  of  business,  "  and  make  room  for 
the  crowd,  all  anxious  to  see  the  only  pig-headed 
man  in  America,  and  to  hear  the  wonderful  warblings 
of  Fairy  Carrie,  the  child  vocalist.  Admission  fixed 
at  the  low  figure  of  fifteen  cents  per  head,"  said  the 


!l. 


warn 


■MM 


162 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


ill-looking  youth,  dropping  change  into  Robert's  hand 
and  hustling  him  upon  the  heels  of  Corinne  who 
craned  her  neck  toward  the  inner  canvas.  **  Only 
fifteen  cents,  gentlemen,  and  the  last  opportunity  to 
see  the  pig-headed  man  who  alone  is  worth  the 
price  of  admission,  and  has  been  exhibited  to  all  the 
crowned  heads  of  Europe.  Fifteen  cents.  Five  three 
cent  pieces  only.  Fairy  Carrie,  the  wonderful  child 
vocalist,  and  the  only  living  pig-headed  man  standing 
between  the  heavens  and  earth  to-day." 

But  when  aunt  Corinne  had  reached  the  interior  of 
the  tent,  she  turned  like  a  flash,  clutched  Robert  Da}^ 
and  hid  her  eyes  against  him.  A  number  of  people 
standing,  or  seated  on  benches,  were  watching  the 
performances  on  a  platform  ut  one  end  of  the  tent. 

"  He  won't  hurt  you,"  whispered  Robert. 

"  Go  'way  !  "  whispered  aunt  Corinne,  trembling  as 
if  she  would  drive  the  mere  image  from  her  thoughts. 

"  It's  the  very  thing  I  saw  at  the  camp,"  whispered 
Robert. 

"  Le's  go  out  again." 

"  I  want  my  money's  worth,"  remonstrated  Robert 
in  an  injured  tone.  "And  now  he's  pickin'  up  his 
things  and  going  behind  a  curtain.  Ain't  he  ugly  ! 
I  wonder  how  it  feels  to  look  that  way  ?  Why  don't 
you  stand  up  straight  and  act  right !     Folks  '11  notice 


ll'l 


I         '       i: 


'      >    <K 


^    1 
■  1  ! 


■  L'.l 


i 


\l        ■■i: 


r 


t' ' 


1^ 


THE    RESCUE    OK    KAIRY    CARRIE. 


n 


I    '! 


•J! 


i  I 


M 

H 

1 

1 

1 

jlKK 

1191 


V 


TAIRY  CARRIE  AND  THE  PIG-HEADED  MAN. 


165 


you.      I  thought  you  wanted  to  see  him  so  bad !  " 

"  I  got  enough,"  responded  aunt  Corinne. 

"But  there  comes  the  little  girl.  And  it's  the 
little  girl  I  saw  in  the  wagon.     Ain't  she  pretty  ! " 

"  She  ain't  got  a  pig's  head,  has  she  ?  "  demanded 
aunt  Corinne. 

"  She's  the  prettiest  little  girl  I  ever  saw,'* 
responded  Robert  impatiently.  "  I  guess  if  she  sees 
you  she'll  think  you're  sheep-headed.  You  catch 
me  spendin'  gold  dollars  to  take  you  to  shows  any 
more  ! " 

The  shrill  treble  of  a  little  child  began  a  ballad  at 
that  time  very  popular,  and  called  "  Lilly  Dale." 
Aunt  Corinne  faced  about  and  saw  a  tiny  creature, 
waxen-faced  and  with  small  white  hands,  and  feet  in 
bits  of  slippers,  standing  in  a  dirty  spangled  dress 
which  was  made  to  fluff  out  from  her  and  give  her 
an  airy  look.  Her  long  brown  curls  hung  about  her 
shoulders.  But  her  black  eyes  were  surrounded  with 
brownish  rings  which  gave  her  a  look  of  singing  in 
her  sleep,  or  in  a  half-conscious  state.  She  was  a 
delicate  little  being,  and  as  she  sung  before  the  star- 
ing people,  her  chin  creased  and  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  quivered  as  if  she  would  break  into  sobs  if 
she  only  dared.  Her  song  was  accompanied  by  a 
hand-organ  ground  behind  the  scenes  ;  and  when  she 


^t    i 


U'l 


ll-         : 


'  if 


i  ^  >  1. 


\ 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


m 


had  finished  and  run  behind  the  curtain,  she  was 
pushed  out  again  in  response  to  the  hand-clapping. 

Robert  Day  hung  entranced  on  this  performance. 
But  when  Fairy  Carrie  had  sung  her  second  song  and 
disappeared,  he  toolc  hold  of  his  aunt's  ear  and 
whispered  cautiously  therein  : 

"I  know  the  pig-headed  man  stole  that  little  girl." 

Aunt  Corinne  looked  at  him  with  solemn  assent. 
Then  there  were  signs  of  the  pig-headed  man's 
returning  to  the  gaze  of  the  public.  Aunt  Corinne 
at  once  grasped  her  nephew's  elbow  and  pushed  him 
from  the  sight.  They  went  outside  where  the  ill-look- 
mg  youth  was  still  shouting,  and  were  crowded  back 
against  the  wagon  by  a  group  now  beginning  to 
struggle  in. 

Robert  proposed  that  they  walk  all  around  the  out- 
side, and  try  to  catch  another  glimpse  of  Fairy  Carrie. 

They  walked  behind  the  wagon.  A  surly  dog 
chained  under  it  snapped  out  at  them.  Aunt  Corinne 
said  she  should  like  to  see  Fairy  Carrie  again,  but 
Ma  Padgett  would  be  looking  for  them. 

At  this  instant  the  little  creature  appeared  back  of 
the  tent.  Whether  she  had  crept  under  the  canvas  or 
knew  some  outlet  to  the  air,  she  stood  there  fanning 
herself  with  her  hands,  and  looking  up  and  about  with 
an  expression  which  was  sad  through  all  the  dusk. 


B'AIRY  CARRIE  AND  THE  PIG-HEADED  MAN. 


Corinne  and  Robert  Day  approached  on  tiptoe. 
Fairy  Carrie  continued  to  fan  herself  with  her 
fingers,  and  looked  at  them  with  a  dull  gaze. 

"  Say  ! "  whispered  aunt  Corinne,  indicating  the 
interior  of  the  tent,  "  is  he  your  pa  ?  " 

Fairy  Carrie  shook  her  head. 

"  Is  your  ma  in  there  ?  "  . 

Fairy  Carrie  again  shook  her  head,  and  her  face 
creased  as  if  she  were  now  determined  in  this  open  air 
and  childish  company  to  cry  and  be  relieved. 

"  Can't  you  talk  ?  "  whispered  aunt  Corinne. 

"No,"  said  the  child. 

"  Yes,  you  can,  too !     Did    the   show  folks   steal 


you 


?" 


Fairy  Carrie's  eyes  widened.  Tears  gathered  and 
dropped  slowly  down  her  cheeks. 

Aunt  Corinne  seized  her  hand.  "Why,  Bobaday 
Padgett !     You  just  feel  how  cold  her  fingers  are  !  " 

Robert  did  so,  and  shook  his  head  to  indicate  that 
he  found  even  her  fingers  in  a  pitiable  condition. 

"You  come  with  us  to  Ma  Padgett,"  exhorted  aunt 
Corinne  in  an  excited  whisper.  "  I  wouldn't  stay 
where  that  pig-man  is  for  the  world." 

The  dog  under  the  wagon  was  growling. 

*'  If  the  pig-man  stole  you.  Ma  Padgett  will  have 
him  put  in  jail."     —     -         ,^-^ 


..? 


I  r- 


1 68 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  Le's  go  back  this  way,  so  they  won't  catch  her," 
cautioned  Bobaday. 

The  dog  began  to  bark. 

Robert  and  Corinne  moved  away  with  the  docile 
Httle  child  between  them.  At  the  barking  of  the  dog 
one  or  two  other  figures  appeared  behind  the  tent. 
Fairy  Carrie  in  her  spangled  dress  was  running 
between  Robert  and  Corinne  into  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


SEARCHING. 


iiM- 


» «r 


BUT  Grandma  Padgett  did  not  enjoy  the  tavern 
bed  or  the  tavern  breakfast.  She  passed  the 
evening  until  midnight  searching  the  streets  of  Rich- 
mond, accompanied  by  Zene  and  his  limp.  Some  of 
the  tavern  people  had  seen  her  children  in  front  of 
the  house,  but  the  longest  search  failed  to  bring  to 
light  any  trace  of  them  in  or  about  that  building. 
The  tavern-keeper  interested  himself;  the  chamber- 
maids were  sympathetic.  Two  hostlers  and  a  bar- 
tender went  different  ways  through  the  town  making 
inquiries.  The  landlady  thought  the  children  might 
have  wandered  off  to  the  movers'  encampment,  where 
there  were  other  children  to  play  with.  Grandma 
Padgett  bade  Zene  put  himself  on  one  of  the  car- 
riage horses  and  post  to  camp.  When  he  came 
back  he  reported  that  Thrusty  Ellen  and  Jonathan 
were  asleep  in  the  tents,  and  nobody  had  seen 
Robert  and  Corinne. 

169 


1    !■: 


f : 


f- 


lyo 


OLD    CARAVAN     DAYS. 


While  searching  the  streets  earlier  in  the  evening, 
Grandma  Padgett  observed  the  pig-headed  man's 
pavilion,  and  this  she  also  explored  with  Zene.  A 
crowd  was  making  the  canvas  stiHing,  and  the  pig- 
headed man's  performances  were  being  varied  by  an 
untidy  woman  who  screamed  and  played  on  a  port- 
able bellows  which  had  ivory  keys,  after  explaining 
that  Fairy  Carrie,  the  Wonderful  Musical  Child,  had 
been  taken  suddenly  i'  md  could  appear  no  more 
that  night. 

Grandma  Padgett  remained  only  long  enough  to 
scan  twice  over  every  face  in  the  tent.  She  went  out, 
telling  Zene  she  was  at  her  wits'  end. 

"Oh,  they  ain't  gone  far,  marm,"  reassured  Zene. 
"You'll  find  out  they'll  come  back  to  the  tavern  all 
right;  mebby  before  we  get  there." 

But  every  such  hopeful  return  to  base  disheartened 
the  searchers  more.  At  last  the  grandmother  was 
obliged  to  lie  down. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  \'irginian  came,  full  of 
concern.  His  party  was  breaking  camp,  but  he 
would  stay  behind  and  help  search  for  the  children. 

"That  I  won't  allow,"  said  Grandma  Padgett. 
"You're  on  a  long  road,  and  you  don't  want  to  risk 
separating  from  the  colony.  Besides,  no  one  can  do 
more  than  we  can  —  unless  it  was  Son  Tip.     As  I 


SEARCHING. 


171 


laid  awake,  I  wished  in  my  heart  Son  Tip  was 
here." 

"Can't  you  send  him  a  lightnin*  message  ?"  said 
the  Virginian.  "  By  the  telegraphic  wire,"  he 
explained,  quoting  a  line  of  a  popular  song. 

"I  wish  I  could,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  "but 
there's  no  telegraph  office  in  miles  of  where  he's 
located.  I  thought  of  it  last  night.  There's  no  way 
to  reach  him  that  I  can  see,  but  by  letter,  and  some- 
times they  lay  over  on  the  road.  And  I  don't  allow 
to  stop  at  this  place.  I'm  goin'  to  set  out  and  hunt 
in  all  directions  till  I  find  the  children." 

The  Virginian  agreed  that  her  plan  was  best.  He 
also  made  arrangements  to  ride  back  and  tell  her  if 
the  caravan  overtook  them  on  the  'pike  during  that 
day's  journey.  Then  he  and  Grandma  Padgett  shook 
hands  with  each  other  and  reluctantly  separated. 

She  made  inquiries  about  all  the  other  roads  lead- 
ing out  of  Richmond.  Zene  drove  the  carriage  out 
of  the  barnyard,  and  Grandma  Padgett,  having  closed 
her  account  with  the  tavern,  took  the  lines,  an 
object  of  interest  and  solicitude  to  all  who  saw  her 
depart,  and  turned  Old  Hickory  and  Old  Henry  on 
a  southward  track.  Zene  followed  with  the  wagon ; 
he  was  on  no  account  to  loiter  out  of  speaking  dis- 
tance.    The  usual  order  of   the  march  being  thus 


i  t 


m 


U', 


If: 


172 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


reversed,  both  veliicles  moved  along  loi  vjinely. 
Even  Boswell  and  Johnson  scented  misfortune  in  the 
air.  Johnson  ran  in  an  undeviating  line  under  the 
carriage,  as  if  he  wished  his  mistress  to  know  he  was 
right  there  where  she  could  depend  on  liim.  His 
countenance  expressed  not  only  gravity,  but  real  con- 
cern. Boswell,  on  the  other  hand,  was  in  a  state  of 
nerves.  If  he  saw  a  bank  at  the  roadside  he  ran 
ahead  and  mounted  it,  looking  back  into  the  carriage, 
demanding  to  know,  with  a  yelping  howl,  where 
Bobaday  and  Corinne  were.  When  his  feelings 
became  too  strong  for  him  he  jumped  at  the  step, 
and  Grandma  Padgett  shook  her  head  at  him. 

"Use  your  nose,  you  silly  little  fice,  and  track  them, 
why  don't  you  ?  " 

As  soon  as  Boswell  understood  this  reproach  he 
jumped  a  fence  and  smelt  every  stump  or  luft  of 
grass,  every  bush  and  hummock,  until  the  carriage 
dwindled  in  the  distance.  Then  he  made  the  dust 
smoke  under  his  feet  as  a  sudden  June  shower  will 
do  for  a  few  seconds,  and  usually  overtook  the  car- 
riage with  all  of  his  tongue  unfurled  and  his  lungs 
working  like  a  furnace.  Johnson  reproved  him  with 
a  glance,  and  he  at  once  dropped  his  tail  and  trotted 
beside  Johnson,  as  if  throwing  himself  on  that  supe- 
rior dog  for  support  in  the  hour  of  affliction. 


Mi 


.  '  h 


ZENE    FOSIS   BACK   TO   CAMl'. 


I       t 


\ 

f 
{ 
J 

«.             -1 
■           ■       J 

i 

'  ■■?!  !■ 
-■ill 

i 

ili 

SEARCH  ING. 


175 


At  noon  no  trace  of  Robert  and  Corinne  had  been 
seen.  Grandma  Padgett  halted,  and  when  Zene 
came  up  she  said  : 

'*  We'll  eat  ?  cold  bite  right  here  by  the  road,  and 
then  go  on  until  sunset.  If  we  don't  find  them,  we'll 
turn  back  to  town  and  take  another  direction." 

They  ate  a  cold  bite,  brought  ready  packed  from 
the  Richmond  tavern.  The  horses  were  given  scant 
time  for  feeding,  and  drank  wherever  they  could  find 
water  along  the  road. 

Cloudless  as  the  day  was,  Grandma  Padgett's  spec- 
tacles had  never  made  any  landscape  look  as  blue  as 
this  one  which  she  followed  until  sunset.  Sometimes 
it  was  blurred  by  a  mist,  but  she  wiped  it  off  the 
glasses. 

At  sunset  they  had  not  seen  a  track  which  might 
be  taken  for  Robert  or  Corinne's.  The  grasshoppers 
were  lonesome.  There  was  a  great  void  in  the  air, 
and  the  most  tuneful  birds  complained  from  the  fence- 
rails.  Grandma  Padgett  constantly  polished  her 
glasses  on  the  backward  road. 

Nothing  was  said  about  making  a  halt  for  supper 
or  any  kind  of  cold  bite.  The  carriage  was  silently 
turned  as  one  half  the  sun  stood  above  the  tree-tops, 
and  it  passed  the  wagon  without  other  sign.  The 
wagon  turned  as  silently.     The  shrill  meadow  insects 


\  1 
>  i 


I 


^ 


176 


OLD   CARAVAUI    DAYS. 


Jl 


became  more  and  more  audible.  Some  young  calves 
in  a  field,  remembering  that  it  was  milking  time, 
began  to  call  their  mothers,  and  to  remonstrate  at 
the  bars  in  voices  full  of  sad  cadences.  The  very 
farmhouse  do^s,  full-fed,  and  almost  too  lazy  to  come 
out  of  the  gates  to  interview  Eoswell  and  Johnson, 
barked  as  if  there  was  sickness  in  'their  respective  fami- 
lies and  it  was  all  they  could  do  to  keep  up  their  spirits 
and  refrain  from  howling. 

The  carriage  and  wagon  jogged  along  until  ihe 
horizon  rim  was  all  of  that  indescribable  tint  that 
evening  mixes  with  saffron,  purple  and  pink.  Grandma 
Padgett  became  anxious  to  reach  Richmond  again. 
The  Virginian  might  have  returned  over  the  road 
with  news  of  her  children.  Or  the  children  them- 
selves might  be  at  the  tavern  waiting  for  her.  Zene 
drove  close  behind  her,  and  when  they  were  about 
to  recross  a  shallow  creek,  scooped  between  two  easy 
swells  aiid  floating  a  good  deal  of  wild  grapevine  and 
darkly  reflecting  maiiy  sycamores,  he  came  forward 
and  loosened  the  check-reins  of  Hickory  and  Henry 
to  let  them  drink.  Grandma  Padgett  felt  impatient 
at  any  delay. 

"I  don't  think  they  want  water,  Zene,"  said 
she. 

"They'd  better  cool  their  mouths,  marm,"  he  said. 


SEARCHING. 


177 


But  still  he  fingered  the  check  reins,  uncertain  how  to 
state  what  had  sent  him  forward. 

"  Seems  like  I  heard  somebody  laugh,  marm,"  said 
Zene. 

''Well,  suppose  you  dici,"  said  Grandma  Padgett. 
"  The  whole  world  won't  mourn  just  because  we're  in 
trouble." 

"  But  it  sounded  like  Corinne,"  said  Zene  uncer- 
tainly. 

Grandma  Padgett's  glasses  glared  upon  him. 

■"  You'd  be  more  apt  to  hear  her  crying,"  she 
exclaimed.     *'  When  did  you  hear  it  ?  " 

"Just  now.     I  jumped  right  off  the  load." 

Hickory  and  Henry,  anxious  to  taste  the  creek, 
would  have  moved  forward,  but  were  checked  by  both 
pairs  of  hands. 

"  What  direction  ? " 

"I  don't  feel  certain,  marm,"  said  Zene,  "but  it 
come  like  it  was  from  that  way  through  the  woods." 

Grandma  Padgett  stretched  her  neck  out  of  the 
carriage  toward  the  right. 

"  Is  that  a  sled  track  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  It's  git- 
tin'  so  dim  I  can't  see." 

Zene  said  there  was  a  sled  track,  pointing  out  what 
looked  like  a  double  footpath  with  a  growth  of  grass 
and  shrubs  s^loug  the  centre. 


^K''' 

> 
I 

f 

*  ' 

i 

1 

■li 

y         .•.'*; 

^n 


I   I 

Si 


i 


ill 


i 


i: 


178 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  We'll  drive  in  that  waj',"  she  nt  once  decided, 
"and  if  we  get  wedged  among  the  trees,  we'll  have 
to  get  out  the  best  v;ay  we  can." 

Zene  turned  the  gray  and  white,  and  led  on  this 
new  march.  Hickory  and  Henry,  backed  from  the 
creek  without  being  allowed  to  dip  their  mouths, 
reluctantly  thumped  the  sled  track  with  their  shoes, 
and  pretended  to  distrust  every  tall  stump  and  every 
glaring  sycamore  limb  which  rose  before  their  sight. 
Scrulby  bushes  scraped  the  bottom  of  the  carriage 
bed.  Now  one  front  wheel  rose  high  over  a  chunk, 
and  the  vehicle  rolled  and  creaked.  Zene's  wagon 
cover,  like  a  big  white  blur,  moved  stead'ly  in  front, 
and  presently  Hickory  and  Henry  ran  their  noses 
against  it,  and  seemed  to  relish  the  knock  which  the 
carriage-pole  gave  the  feed  box.  Zene  had  halted 
to    listen. 

It  was  dark  in  the  woods.  A  rustle  could  be  heard 
now  and  then  as  of  some  tiny  four-footed  creature 
movi'ng  the  stiff  grass  ;  or  a  twig  cracked.  The  frogs 
in  li- )  creek  were  tuning  their  bass-viols.  A  tree-toad 
rattled  on  some  v.nseen  trunk,  and  the  whole  woods 
heaved  its  great  lungs  in  the  steady  breathing  which 
it  never  leaves  off,  but  which  becomes  a  roar  and  a 
wheeze  in  stormy  or  v\ inter  weather. 

*'  There  isn't  anything  "  — began  Uranv  ma  P^figc. 


"  wherk's  bobadav  ?  " 


^■1 


I 


1 1 


A 


SEARCHING. 


l§f 


-  ■    'j:i    J  ] 
if'' 


but  between  thing  and  "here"  came  rhe  distinct 
laugh  of  a  child. 

Zene  cracked  his  whip  over  the  gray  and  the  white, 
and  the  wagon  rumbled  ahead  rapidly,  jarring  against 
roots,  and  ends  of  decayed  logs,  turning  short  in  one 
direction,  and  dipping  through  i  long  sheltered  mud- 
hole  to  the  very  wheel-hubs,  Drushing  against  trees 
and  under  low  branches  until  guttural  remonstrances 
were  scraped  out  of  the  cover,  and  finally  descending 
into  an  abrupt  hollow,  w:th  the  carriage  rattling  at  its 
hind  wheels. 

Grandma  Padgett  had  been  through  many  experi- 
ences, but  she  felt  she  could  truly  say  to  her  descend- 
ants that  she  never  gave  up  so  entirely  for  pure  joy 
in  her  life  as  when  she  saw  Robert  and  Corinne  sit- 
ting in  front  of  a  fire  built  against  a  great  stump,  and 
talking  with  a  fat.  ^lly-looking  man  who  leaned 
against  a  cart-wheel. 


I  ! 


t,  ■ 


Mi 


■   f-i 

* 

4-- 

:  f! , 

■■  m 

:  3 

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CHAPTER  XV. 


THE   SPROUTING. 


WHY,  Bobaday  Padgett,"  exclaimed  aunt  Cor- 
inne,    *'  if    there    isn't    our    wagon  —  and 
Ma  Padgett." 

Both  children  came  running  to  the  carriage  steps, 
and  their  guardian  got  down,  trembling.  She  put  her 
arms  around  them,  and  after  a  silent  hug,  shook  one 
in  each  hand. 

The  fire  illuminated  wagon  and  carriage,  J.  D. 
Matthew's  cart,  and  the  logs  and  bushes  surrounding 
them.  It  flickered  on  the  blue  spectacles  and  gave 
Grandma  Padgett  a  piercing  expression  while  she 
examined  her  culprits. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  while  Zene  and  I  hunted 
up  and  down  in  such  distress  ?  " 

"  We's  going  right  back  to  the  tavern  soon's   he' 
could  get   us   there,"  Robert   hastened    to   explain. 
"It's   that  funny  fellow,  J.   D.,  Grandma.     But   he 


m 


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■1  i 


THE    SPROUTING. 


183 


thought  we  better  go  roundabout,  so  they  wouldn't 
catch  us." 

Zene,  limping  down  from  his  wagon,  listened  to 
this  lucid  statement. 

"  O  Zene,"  exclaimed  aunt  Corinne,  "  I'm  so  glad 
you  and  Ma  Padgett  have  come  !  But  we  knew  you 
wouldn't  go  on  to  Brother  rip's  without  us.  Bobaday 
said  you'd  wait  till  we  got  back,  and  we  ran  right 
straight  out  of  town." 

"  You  ought  to  be  well  sprouted,  both  of  you,"  said 
Grandma  Padgett,  still  trembling  as  she  advanced 
toward  the  fire.  "  Robert  Day,  break  me  a  switch  ; 
break  me  a  good  one,  and  peel  the  leaves  off.  So  you 
came  across  this  man  again,  and  he  persuaded  you  to 
run  away  with  him,  did  he  ?  " 

J.  D.  Matthews,  who  had  stood  up  smiling  his 
widest,  now  moved  around  to  the  other  side  of  his 
cart  and  crouched  in  alarm. 

Grandma  Padgett  now  saw  that  the  cart  was 
standing  level  and  open,  and  within  it  there  ap- 
peared a  nest  of  brown  curls  and  one  slim,  babyish 
hand. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  she  inquired. 

•*  Why,  don't  you  see,  Grandma  ?  "  exclaimed  Rob- 
ert, "  that's  Fairy  Carrie  that  we  ran  away  with. 
They  made  her  sing  at  the  "show.     We  just  went  in  a 


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184 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS, 


1 


minute  to  see  the  pig-headed  man.  I  had  my  gold 
dollar.  And  she  felt  so  awful.  And  we  saw  her 
behind  the  tent." 

"  She  cried,  Ma  Padget<^,"  burst  in  aunt  Corinne, 
"  like  her  heart  was  broke,  and  she  couldn't  talk  at  all. 
Then  they  were  coming  out  to  make  her  go  in  again, 
and  we  said  didn't  she  want  to  go  to  you  ?  You 
wouldn't  let  her  live  with  a  pig-headed  man  and  have 
to  sing.  And  she  wanted  to  go,  so  they  came  out. 
And  we  took  hold  of  her  hands  and  ran.  And  they 
chr.sed  us.  And  we  couldn't  go  to  the  tavern  'cause 
they  chased  us  the  other  way  :  it  got  dark,  and  when 
Bobaday  hid  us  under  a  house,  they  chased  past  us, 
and  we  waited,  oh !  the  longest  time." 

"And  then,"  continued  Robert,  "  when  we  came  out, 
we  didn't  know  which  way  to  go  to  the  tavern,  but 
started  roundabout,  through  fields  and  over  fences, 
and  all,  so  the  show  people  wouldn't  see  us.  Aunt 
Corinne  was  scared.  And  we  stumbled  over  cows, 
and  dogs  barked  at  us.  But  we  went  on  till  after 
'while  just  as  we's  slippin'  up  a  back  street  we  met 
J.  D.  and  the  cart,  and  he  was  so  good !  He  put  the 
poor  little  girl  in  the  cart  and  pushed  her.      She  was 

so  weak   she  fell   down   every  little   bit  when  we's 

lb 

runnin'.     Aunt  Corinne  and  me  had  to  nearly  carry 

her."     _  ^  :_  .^,^^_. 


THE    SPROUTING. 


iSS 


"Well,  why  didn't  he  bring  you  back  to  the 
tavern  ? " 

"Grandma,  if  he  had,  the  show  people  would  been 
sure  to  get  her  !  We  thought  tlte\  d  travel  on  this 
morning.  And  we  were  so  tired  I  He  took  us  to  a 
cabin  house,  and  the  woman  was  real  good.  The 
man  was  real  good,  too.  They  had  lots  of  dogs- 
We  got  our  breakfast  and  stayed  all  night.  They 
knew  we'd  strayed  off,  bi.  they  said  J.  D.  would  get 
us  back  safe.  I  gave  them  the  rest  of  my  dollar. 
Then  this  morning  we  all  started  to  town,  but  J.  D. 
had  to  go  away  down  the  road  first,  for  some  eggs 
and  things.  And  it  took  us  so  long  we  only  got  this 
far  when  it  came  dusk." 

"J.  D.  took  good  care  of  us,"  said  aunt  Corinne. 
"  Everybody  knows  him,  and  he  is  so  funny.  The 
folks  say  he  travels  along  the  'pike  all  through  Indiana 
and  Ohio." 

"  Well,  I'm  obliged  to  him,"  said  Grandma  Pad- 
gett, still  severely;  "we  owe  him,  too,  for  a  good 
supper  and  breakfast  he  gave  us  the  other  time  we 
saw  him.  But  I  can't  make  out  how  he  can  foot  it 
faster  than  we  can  ride,  and  so  git  into  this  State 
ahead  of  us." 

Mr.  Matthows  now  came  forward,  and  straight- 
ening   his    bear-like     figure,     proceeded    to    smile 


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OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS, 


without  apprehension.      He   cleared   his   voice   and 
chanted  : 

Sometimes  I  take  the  wings  of  steam, 
And  on  the  cars  my  cart  I  wheel, 
And  so  I  came  to  Richmond  town 
Two  days  ago  in  fair  renowii. 

"  Oh,"  said  Grandma  Padgett. 

"  What's  that  he's  givin'  out,  marm  ?  "  inquired 
Zene. 

"  It's  a  way  he  has,"  she  explained.  **  He  talks  in 
verses.  This  is  the  pedler  that  stayed  over  in  that 
old  house  with  us,  near  by  the  Dutch  landlord  and 
the  deep  creek.  Were  you  going  to  camp  here  al! 
night  ?  "  she  inquired  of  J.  D. 

"We  wanted  him  to,"  coaxed  aunt  Corinne,  "my 
feet  ached  so  bad.  Then  we  could  walk  right 
into  town  in  the  morning,  and  he'd  hide  Fairy  Carrie 
in  his  cart  till  we  got  to  the  tavern." 

"Zene,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  "you  might  as 
well  take  out  the  horses  and  feed  them.  They  haven't 
had  much  chance  to-day." 

"  Will  v;e  stay  here,  marm  ?  " 

"  I'll  see,"  said  Grandma  Padgett.  "  Anyhow,  I 
can't  stand  it  in  the  carriage  again  right  away." 

"Let's  camp  here,"  urged  Robert.     "J.  D.'s  got 


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THE    SPROUTING. 


189 


chicken  all  dressed  to  broil  on  tht  coals,  and  lots  of 
good  things  to  eat." 

"  He  wouldn't  have  any  money  the  last  time,  and 
I  can't  have  such  doings  again.  I'm  hungry,  for  I 
haven't  enjoyed  a  meal  since  yesterday.  Mister,  see 
here,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  approaching  the 
cart. 

J.  D.  moved  backwards  as  she  came  as  if  pushed 
by  an  invisible  pole  carried  in  the  brisk  grandmother's 
hands. 

"  Stand  still,  do,"  she  urged,  laying  a  bank  bill  on 
his  cart.  She  snapped  her  steel  purse  shut  again, 
put  it  in  her  dress  pocket,  and  indicated  the  bill  with 
one  finger.  "  I  don't  lay  this  here  for  your  kindness 
to  the  children,  you  understand.  You've  got  feelings, 
and  know  I'm  more  than  obliged.  But  here  are  a 
lot  of  us,  and  you  buy  your  provisions,  so  if  you'll  let 
us  pay  you  for  some,  we'll  eat  and  be  thankful.  Take 
the  money  and  put  it  away.!' 

Thus  commanded,  J.  D.  returned  cautiously  to  the 
other  side  of  the  cart,  took  the  money  and  thrust  it 
into  his  vest  pocket  without  looking  at  it.  He  then 
smiled  again  at  Grandma  Padgett,  as  if  the  thought 
of  propitiating  her  was  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

'*  Now  go  on  with  your  chicken-broiling,"  she  con- 
cluded, and  he  went  on  with  it,  keeping  at  a  distance 


Ii 


TQO 


OLD   CARAVAN     DAYS. 


from  her  while  she  stood  by  the  cart  or  when  she  sat 
down  on  a  log  by  the  fire. 

"  Here's  your  stick,  Grandma,"  said  Robert  Day, 
offering  her  a  limb  of  paw  paw,  stripped  of  all  its 
leaves. 

Grandma  Padgett  took  it  in  her  hands,  reduced  its 
length  and  tried  its  limberness. 

"  If  I  had  given  my  family  such  trouble  when  I's 
your  age,"  she  said  to  Corinne  and  Robert,  "  I  should 
have  been  sprouted  as  I  deserved." 

They  listened  respectfully.  •■ 

"  Folks  didn't  allow  their  children  to  run  wild  then. 
They  whipped  them  and  kept  them  in  bounds.  I 
remember  once  father  whipped  brother  Thoina;  for 
telling  a  falsehood,  and  made  welts  on  his  body." 

Corinne  and  Robert  had  heard  this  tale  before, 
but  their  countenances  put  on  a  piteous  express^ion. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  sprouting,'  concluded  their 
guardian  as  if  she  did  not  know  how  to  compromise 
with  her  conscience,  *'  but  since  you  meant  to  do  a 
good  turn  instead  of  a  bad  one  " — 

"  Oh,  we  never  intended  to  run  away.  Grandma,  and 
worry  you  so,"  insisted  Roberi. 

"  We'b  just   sorry   for   the   little  girl,"  murmured 
aunt  Corinne. 
—  "why,  I'll  let  it  pass  this  time.     Only  never  let 


THE  SPROUTING. 


191 


me  know  you  to  do  such  a  thing  again."  The  paw 
paw  sprout  fell  to  the  ground,  unwarped  by  use. 
Corinne  and  Robert  vvere  hearty  in  promising  never 
to  run  away  with  Fairy  Carrie  or  any  other  party 
again. 

This  serious  business  completed,  the  grandmother 
turned  her  attention  to  the  child  in  the  cart. 

"  How  sound  asleep  the  little  thing  is,"  she 
observed,  smoothing  Fairy  Carrie's  cheek  from  dark 
eye-circle  to  chin,  *'  and  her  flesh  so  cold  ! " 

"She'?  just  slept  that  way  ever  since  J.  D.  put  her 
in  his  cart !  "  exclaimed  aunt  Corinne.  *'  We  made 
her  open  her  eyes  and  take  some  breakfast  in  her 
mouth,  but  she  went  to  sleep  again  while  she's  eatin'." 

"  And  we  let  her  sleep  ever  since,"  added  Bobaday. 
"  It  didn't  make  a  bit  of  difference  whether  the  cart 
went  jolterty-jolt  over  stones  or  run  smooth  in  the 
dust.     And  we  shaded  her  face  with  bushes." 

"  She's  not  well,"  said  their  experienced  elder. 
"The  poor  little  thing  may  have  some  catching  dis- 
ease !  It's  a  pretty  face.  I  wonder  whose  child  she 
is  ?  You  oughtn't  to  set  up  your  judgment  and  carry 
a  little  child  off  with  you  from  her  friends.  I  hardly 
know  what  we'll  do  about  it." 

"Oh,  but  they  wern't  her  friends,  Ma  Padgett," 
asserted  aunt  Corinne  solemnly.      "  She  isn't  the  pig- 


i 


ft 


192 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


iv 

■  'i 


headed  man's  little  girl.  Nor  any  of  them  ain't  her 
folks.     Bobaday  thinks  they  stole  her  away." 

"If  she'd  only  wake  up  and  talk,"  said  Robert, 
"maybe  she  could  tell  us  where  she  lives.  But  she 
was  afraid  of  the  show  people." 

"  I  should  think  that  was  likely,"  said  Grandma 
Padgett. 

In  the  heat  of  his  sympathy,  he  confided  to  his 
grandmother  what  he  had  seen  of  the  darkened 
wagon  the  night  they  met  the  Virginians  at  the  large 
camp. 

The  paw  paw  stick  had  been  laid  upon  the  fire. 
It  blackened  frowningly.  But  Robert  and  Corinne 
had  known  many  an  apple  sprout  to  preach  them 
such  a  discourse  as  it  had  done,  without  enforcing 
the  subject  matter  more  heavily. 

Grandma  Padgett  reported  that  she  had  searched 
for  her  missing  family  in  the  show  tent,  though  she 
could  not  see  why  any  sensible  boy  or  girl  would 
want  to  enter  such  a  place.  And  it  was  clear  to  he- 
the  child  might  be  afraid  of  such  creatures,  and  very 
probable  that  she  did  not  belong  to  them  by  ties  of 
blood.  But  they  might  prove  her  lawful  guardians 
and  cause  a  small  moving  party  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

"  But  we  won't  let  them  find  her  again/'  said  aunt 
Corinne.     "  Ma,  mayn't  I  keep  her  for  my  little  sis- 


THE   SPROUTING. 


m 


ter?  —  and  Bobaclay  would  like  to  have  another  aunt." 
"  Then  we'd  be  stealing  her,"  said  Grandma  Pad- 
gett. "  If  she's  a  lost  child  she  ought  to  be  restored 
to  her  people,  and  travelling  along  the  'pike  we  can't 
keep  the  showmen  from  finding  her." 

Bobaday  and  Corinne  gazed  pensively  at  the  stump 
fire,  wondering  how  grown  folks  always  saw  the  diffi- 
culties in  doing  what  you  want  to  do. 


»«i  k  ; 


Ift 


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CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE   MINSTREL. 


i 


JD.  MATTHEWS  spread  his  supper  upon  a 
log.  He  had  delicacies  which  created  a  very 
cheerful  feeling  in  the  party,  such  as  always  rises 
around    the    thanksgiving  board. 

Zene  sat  at  one  side  of  the  log  by  J.  D.  Matthews. 
Opposite  them  the  grandmother  and  her  children 
camped  on  chunks  covered  with  shawls  and  horse- 
blankets.  Seeing  what  an  accomplished  cook  this 
singular  pedler  was,  how  much  at  home  he  appeared 
in  the  woods,  and  what  a  museum  he  could  make  of 
his  cart,  Zene  respectfully  kept  from  laughing  at  him, 
except  in  an  indulgent  way  as  the  children  did. 

"I  guess  we'll  stay  just  where  v^^e  are  until  morn- 
ing," said  Grandma  f'adgett.  "I'he  night's  pleasant 
and  warm,  and  there  are  just  as  few  mosquitoes  here 
as  in  the  tavern.  I  didn't  sleep  last  night."  She 
felt  stimulated  by  the  tea,  and  sufficiently  recovered 
from  the  languor  which  follows  extreme  anxiety,  to 

194 


THE    MINSTKHI.. 


195 


-'■'^- 


linger  up  watching  the  fire,  allowing  the  children  to 
linger  also,  while  J.  D.  Matthews  put  his  cupboard  to 
rights  after  supper. 

It  was  funny  to  see  his  fat  hands  dabbling  in  dish- 
water ;  he  laughed  as  much  about  it  as  aunt  Corinne 
did. 

Grandma  Padgett  removed  the  sleeping  child  from 
his  cart,  and  after  trying  vainly  to  make  her  eat  or 
arouse  herself,  pur  her  in  the  bed  in  the  tent,  attired 
in  one  of  aunt  Corinne's  gowns. 

"  She  was  just  as  helpless  as  a  young  baby,"  said 
Grandma  Padgett,  sitting  down  again  by  the  fire. 
*'  I'll  have  a  doctor  look  at  that  child  when  we 
go  through  Richmond.  She  acts  like  she'd  been 
drugged." 

J.  D.  Matthews  having  finished  his  dishwashing, 
sat  down  in  the  shadow  .some  distance  from  the  out- 
spoken woman  in  spectacles,  and  her  family. 

"  Now  come  up  here,"  urged  aunt  Corinne,  "  and 
sing  it  all  over  —  what  you  was  singing  before  Ma 
Padgett  came." 

J.  D.  ducked  his  wead  and  chuckled,  but  remained 
in  his  shadow. 

"Awh  —  come  on,"  urged  Robert  Day.  "Zene'll 
sing  '  Barb'ry  Allen '  if  you'll  sing  your  song  again." 

Zene  glanced  uneasily  at  Grandma  Padgett,  and 


III 


'^ll 


I-  St  t 


m 


196 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


said  he  must  look  at  the  horses.  "  Harb'ry  Allen  " 
was  a  ballad  he  had  indulged  the  children  with  when 
at  a  distance  from  her  ears. 

But  the  tea  and  the  hour,  and  her  Virginia 
memories  through  which  that  old  sing-song  ran 
like  the  murmur  of  bees,  made  Grandma  Padgett 
propitious,  and  she  laid  her  gracious  commands 
on  Zene  first,  and  J.  D.  Matthews  afterwards.  So 
that  not  only  "Barb'ry  Allen  "  was  sung,  but  J.  D.'s 
ditty,  into  which  he  plunged  with  nasal  twanging 
and    much  personal  enjoyment. 

"It's  why  he  didn't  ever  get  married,"  explained 
aunt  Corinne,  constituting  herself  prologue. 

"  I  should  think  he  neji1i)t  make  any  excuses  for 
that,"  remarked  Grandma  Padgett,  smiling. 

J.  D.  sawed  back  and  forth  on  a  log,  his  silly 
face  rosy  with  pleasure  over  the  tale  of  his  own 
woes  : 

O,  I  went  to  a  friend's  house, 
The  friend  says  "Come  in, 
Take  a  hot  cup  of  coffee, 
O  where  have  you  been  ?  " 

'   It's  down  to  the  Squi-cr's  .      ■ 

With  a  license  I  went,  ^;  %       '    V 

•  And  my  good  Sunday  clothes  on, 

To  marry  intent. 


THE    MINSTREL. 


197 


"  O  where  is  the  lady  ? "  / 

The  good  Squi-er,  says  H»*. 
"  O  she's  gone  wit'i  a  wcd'wer 
That  is  not  poor  J.  D." 

"  It's  now  you  surprise  me," 
The  friend  says  a-sigli'n, 
"J.  I).  Matthews  not  married, 
The  sun  will  not  shine  !  " 

*'  Well,  I  think  she  was  simple  ! "  exclaiiiietl  aunt 
Corinne  in  epilogue,  "  when  she  might  have  had  a 
man  that  washed  the  dishes  and  talked  poetry  all 
the  time." 


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CHAPTER  XVI I. 

THE    HOUSE    WITH    LOG    STEPS. 

RICHMOND  must  soon  have  seemed  far  be- 
hind Grandma  Padgett's  little  caravan,  had 
not  Fairy  Carrie  still  drowsed  in  the  carriage,  keeiD- 
ing  the  R-chmond  adventures  always  present. 

They  had  parted  from  J-  D.  Matthews  and  the 
Virginian  and  his  troop.  Jonathan  and  Thrusty 
Ellen  were  somewliere  on  the  road  ahead,  but  at  a 
point  unknown  to  Robert  and  Corinne.  They  might 
turn  off  towards  the  southwest  if  all  the  emigrants 
agreed  to  forsake  the  St.  Louis  route.  No  one 
cc'ild  tell  where  J.  D.  might  be  rattling  his  cart. 

The  afternoon  which  finally  placea  Richmond  in 
diminishing  perspective,  Robert  rode  with  Zene  and 
lived  his  campaign  over  again.  This  was  jDartly 
necessary  because  little  Carrie  lay  on  the  back  car- 
riage seat.  But  it  was  entirely  agreeable,  for  Zene 
wanted  to  know  all  the  particulars,  and  showed  a 
flattering,  not  to  say  a  stimulating  anxiety  to  get  a 

198 


THE    HOUSE    \vITH     LOG    STEPS. 


199 


good  straight  look  at  Bobaday's  prowess  in  rescuing 
the  distressed.     Said  Zene  ; 

"But  what  if  her  folks  never  turn  up?" 

''Then  my  pa  will  take  her  to  live  with  us,"  said 
Robe-  Day,  "  ar-d  Grandma  Padgett  will  do  by  her 
just  as  she  does  by  aunt  Krin  and  me.  She  isn't  a 
very  lively  little  girl.  I'd  hate  to  play  Blind  Man 
with  her  to  be  blinded :  for  seems  as  if  she'd  just 
stand  against  the  wall  and  go  to  sleep.  But  it'll  be 
a  good  thing  to  have  one  still  child  about  the  house  : 
aunt  Corinne  fidgets  so.  I  believe,  though,  her 
folks  are  hunting  her.  Look  what  a  fuss  there  was 
about  us  !  When  people's  children  get  lost  or  stolen, 
they  hunt  and  hunt,  and  don't  give  it  up.'' 

In  the  carriage,  aunt  Corinne  sitting  by  her 
mother,  turned  her  head  at  every  fifth  revolution  of 
the  wheels,  to  see  how  the  strange  little  girl  fared. 

"  Do  you  s'pose  she  will  ev;;i'  be  clear  awake.  Ma 
Padgett.'"  inquired  aunt  Corinne. 

"  She'll  drowse  it  off  by  and  by,"  replied  Ma  Pad- 
gett. "The  iubbing  I  give  her  this  morning,  and 
the  stuff  the  Richmond  doctor  made  her  swallow, 
will  bring  her  out  right." 

"  She's  so  pretty,"  mused  aunt  Corinne.  "  I'd 
like  to  have  her  hair  if  she  never  wanted  it  any 
more." 


'f^^  i 


fM 


200 


OLD   CARAVAN   DAYS. 


'I|r  - 


"  That's  a  covetous  spirit.  But  it  puts  me  in 
mind,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  smiling,  "of  my  sister 
Adeline  and  the  way  she  took  to  get  doll's  hair." 

Aunt  Corinne  had  often  heard  of  sister  Adeline 
and  the  doll's  hair,  but  she  was  glad  to  hear  the 
brief  tale  told  again  in  the  pleasant  drowsing  after- 
noon. 

The  Indiana  landscape  was  beautiful  in  tones 
of  green  and  stretches  of  foliage.  Whoever  calls  it 
m.onotonous  has  never  watched  its  varying  complex- 
ions or  the  visible  breath  of  Indian  summer  which 
never  departs  from  it  at  any  season. 

"  Mother  came  in  from  meeting  one  day,"  said 
Grandma  Padgett,  "and  went  into  her  bedroom  and 
threw  her  shawl  on  the  bed.  She  had  company  to 
dinner  and  was  in  a  hurry.  It  was  a  fine  silk  shawl 
with  fringe  longer  than  my  hand.  Uncle  Henry 
brought  it  over  the  mountains  as  a  present.  But 
Adeline  come  in  and  saw  the  fringe  and  thought 
what  nicG  doll  hair  it  would  make.  So  by  and  by 
mother  has  an  errand  in  the  bedroom,  and  she  sees 
her  shawl  travelling  down  behind  the  bed,  and 
doesn't  know  what  to  think.  Then  she  hears  some- 
thing snip,  snip,  and  lifts  up  the  valance  and  looks 
undf  the  bed,  and  there  sets  Adeline  cutting  the 
fringe  off  her  shawl !     She  had  it  half  cut  off."        ._.  . 


I 


THE    HOUSE    WITH    LOG   STEPS. 


20I 


•     "  And  what  did  Grandma  do  then  ? ''  aunt  Corinne 
omitted  not  to  ask. 

"Oh,  she  punished  Adeline.  But  that  never  had 
any  effect  on  her.  Adeline  was  a  funny  child,"  said 
Grandma  Padgett,  retrospective  tenderness  showing- 
through  her  blue  glasses.  "  I  remember  once  she 
got  to  eatin'  brown  paper,  and  mother  told  her  it 
would  kill  her  if  she  didn't  quit  it.  Adeline  made 
up  her  mind  she  was  going  to  eat  brown  paper  if  it 
did  kill  her.  She  never  doubted  that  it  would  come 
true  as  mother  sa'd.  But  she  prepared  to  die,  and 
made  her  will  and  divided  ner  things.  Mother 
found  it  out  and  put  a  stop  to  the  business.  1 
remember,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  laughing,  "that 
I  was  disappointed,  because  I  had  to  give  back  what 
'^he  willed  to  me!  yet  I  didn't  want  Adeline  to  die. 
She  was  a  lively  child.  She  jumped  out  of  win- 
dows and  tom-boyed  around,  but  everybody  liked 
her.  Once  I  had  some  candy  and  divided  fair 
enough,  I  thought,  but  Adeline  after  she  ate  up 
what  she  had,  said  Td  be  sorry  n  I  didn't  give  her 
more,  because  she  was  going  to  die.  It  worked  so 
well  on  my  feelings  that  next  time  I  tried  that  plan 
on  Adeline's  feelings,  and  told  her  if  she  didn't  do 
something  I  wanted  her  to  do  s/ie'^  be  sorry ;  for  I 
was  going  lo  die.     She  said  she  knew  it ;  everybody 


1 

'1 

i  I  a  m 


i.)i"i,j".gi»»j» 


?gr:r: 


<  % 


202 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


was  going  to  die  some  day,  and  she  couldn't  help  it 
and  wasn't  going  to  be  sorry  for  any  such  thing  !     Poor 

Adeline  :  many  a  year  she's  been 
''  gone,  and  I'm  movin'  further  away 

from  the  old  home." 
Pad- 
lines 


THE    LAWYER. 


and  slapped  them  on  the  backs  of  old  Hickory  and 
Henry.  Rousing  themselves  from  coltish  recollec- 
tions of  their  own,  perhaps,  the  horses  began  to  trot. 
In  Indiana,  some  reaches  of  the  'pike  were  built 
on  planks  instead  of  broken  stone,  and  gave  out  a 


THE    HOUSE    WITH    LOG    STEPS. 


203 


hollow  rumble  instead  of  a  flinty  roar.  The  shape 
and  firmness  of  the  road-bed  were  the  same,  but  the 
ends  of  boards  sometimes  cropped  out  along  the 
sides.  In  this  day,  branches  of  the  old  national 
thoroughfare  penetrate  to  every  part  of  the  Hoosier 
State.  The  people  build  'pikes  instead  of  what  are 
called  dirt  roads.  There  are,  of  course,  many  muddy 
lanes  and  by-ways.  But  they  have  some  of  the  best 
diives  which  have  been  lifted  out  of  the  Mississippi 
Valley. 

Though  the  small  caravan  had  lost  time,  and  Son 
Tip  might  oe  waiting  at  the  IMinois  line  before  they 
reached  that  point,  Grandma  Padgett  said  they 
would  all  go  to  morning  meeting  in  the  town  where 
they  stopped  Saturday  night,  and  ordy  drive  a  short 
piece  on  Sunday  afternoon.  She  hated  to  be  on 
expense,  but  they  had  much  to  return  thanks  for ; 
and  the  Israelites  made  Sabbath  day's  journeys  when 
they  were  moving. 

The  first  Sunday  —  which  seemed  so  remote  now 
—  had  b"en  partially  spent  in  a  grove  where  they 
camped  for  dinner,  and  Grandma  Padgett  read  the 
Bible,  and  made  Eobaday  and  Corinne  answer  their 
catechism.  But  this  June  Sunday  was  to  be  of  a 
thanksgiving  character.  And  they  spent  it  in  Green- 
field.   : 


I- 


204 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


At  Cambridge  City  little  Carrie  roused  sufficiently 
to  eat  with  evident  relish.  But  no  such  recollection 
of  Dublin,  Jamestown  —  called  Jimtown  for  short,  by 
some  inhabitants,  and  only  distinguished  by  its 
location  from  another  Jamestown  in  the  State  — 
Knightstown  and  Charlottesville,  remained  to  her  as 
remained  to  Bobaday  and  Corinne.  The  Indiana 
village  did  not  differ  greatly  from  the  Ohio  village 
situated  on  the  'pike.  There  were  always  the  church 
with  a  bonny  little  belfry,  and  the  schoolhouse  more 
or  less  mutilated  as  to  its  weather  boarding.  The 
'pike  was  the  principal  street,  and  such  houses  as  sat 
at  right  angles  to  it,  looked  lonesome,  and  the  dirt 
roads  weedy  or  dusty. 

Greenfield  was  a  country  seat  and  had  a  court 
house  surrounded  by  trees.  It  looked  long  and 
straggling  in  the  summer  dusk.  Zene,  riding  ahead 
to  secure  lodgings,  came  back  as  far  as  the  culvert  to 
tell  Grandma  Padgett  there  was  no  room  at  the 
tavern.  Court  was  in  session,  and  the  lawyers  on 
the  circuit  filled  the  house.  But  there  was  another 
place,  near  where  they  now  halted,  that  sometimes 
took  in  travellers  for  accommodation's  sake.  He 
pointed  it  out,  a  roomy  building  with  a  broad  flight  of 
log  steps  leading  up  to  the  front  doors.  Zene  said  it 
was  not  a  tavern,   but  rather   nicer  than   a  tavern. 


THE   HOUSE    WITH    LOG   STEPS. 


205 


He  had  alr'^^dy  prevailed  on  the  man  and  woman 
keeping  it  to  take  in  his  party. 

Robert  and  aunt  Corinne  scampered  up  the  log  steps 
and  Grandma  Padgett  led  Fairy  Carrie  after  them. 
A  plain  tidy  woman  met  them  at  the  door  and  took 
them  into  a  square  room.  There  were  the  home- 
made carpet,  the  centre-table  wnth  daguerreotypes 
standing  opi^n  and  glaring  such  light  as  they  had  yet 
to  reflect,  samplers  and  colored  prints  upon  the  walls, 
but  there  was  also  a  strange  man  busy  with  some 
papers  at  the  table. 

His  hat  stood  beside  him  on  the  floor,  and  he 
dropped  the  sorted  papers  into  it.  He  was,  as 
Grandma  Padgett  supposed,  one  of  tlie  lawyers  on 
the  circuit.  After  looking  up,  he  kept  on  sorting  and 
folding  his  papers. 

The  woman  went  out  to  continue  her  supper-getting. 
In  a  remote  part  of  the  house  bacon  could  be  heard 
hissing  over  the  fire.  Robert  and  Corinne  sat 
upright  on  black  chairs,  but  their  guardian  put 
Carrie  on  a  padded  lounge. 

The  little  creature  was  dressed  in  aunt  Corinne's 
clothing,  giving  it  a  graceful  shape  in  spite  of  the 
broad  tucks  in  sleeve,  skirt  and  pantalet,  which 
kept  it  from  draggling  over  her  hands  or  on  the  floor. 
She  leaned  against  the  wall,  gazing  around  her  with 


'V: 

1 

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2o6 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


half-awakened  interest.  The  dark  circles  were  still 
ab?ut  her  eyes,  but  her  pallor  was  flushed  with  a 
warmer  color.  Grandma  Padgett  pushed  the  damp 
curls  off  her  forehead. 

"  Are  you  hungry,  Sissy  ? "  she  inquired. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  replied  Carrie.  "  Yes,  ma'am,"  she 
added,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 

"  She  actually  doesn't  know,"  said  Bobaday,  sitting 
down  on  the  lounge  near  Carrie.  Upon  this,  aunt 
Corinne  forsook  her  own  black  chair  and  sat  on  the 
other  side  of  their  charge. 

"  Do  you  begin  to  remember,  now  ?"  inquired  Rob- 
ert Day,  smoothing  the  listless  hands  on  Carrie's  lap. 

'*  How  we  run  off  with  you  —  you  know,"  prompted 
aunt  Corinne.  dressing  a  curl  over  her  finger. 

The  child  looked  at  each  of  them,  smiling. 

"Don't  pester  her,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  taking 
some  work  out  of  her  dress  pocket  and  settling  her- 
self by  a  window  to  make  use  of  the  last  primrose 
light  in  the  sky. 

"  If  we  don't  begin  to  make  her  talk,  she'll  forget 
how,"  exclaimed  aunt  Corinne.  Can't  you  'member 
anything  about  your  father  and  mother  now,  Carrie?" 

The  man  who  was  sorting  his  papers  at  the  table, 
turned  an  attentive  eye  and  ear  toward  the  children. 
But  neither  Bobaday  nor  Corinne  considered  that  he 


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58 


^'    1 


THK    HOUSE    WITH    LOd    STEPS. 


209 


broke  up  the  family  privacy.  They  scarcely  noticed 
him. 

"Grandma,"  murmured  Carrie  vaguely,  turning 
her  eyes  toward  their  guardian  by  the  window. 

"  Yes,  that's  Grandma,"  said  I3obaday.  "  But  don't 
you  know  where  your  own  pa  and  ma  are  ?  " 

"  Papa,"  whispered  Carrie,  like  a  baby  trying  the 
words.     "Mamma.     Papa — mamma." 

"Yes,  dear,"  exclaimed  aunt  Corinne.  "Where 
do  they  live  ?  She's  big  enough  to  know  that  if  she 
knows  anything." 

"  Let's  get  her  to  sing  a  song,"  suggested  Bobaday. 
"  If  she  can  remember  a  song,  she  can  remember 
what  happened  before  they  made  her  sing." 

"  That  papa  ? "  said  Carrie,  looking  at  the  stranger 
by  the  table.  , 

"  No,"  returned  aunt  Corinne,  deigning  a  glance  his 
way.  "  That's  only  a  gentleman  goin'  to  eat  sup- 
per here.  Sing,  Carrie.  Now,  Bobaday  Padgett," 
warned  aunt  Corinne,  shooting  her  whisper  behind 
the  curled  head,  "  don't  you  go  and  scare  her  by  sayin' 
anything  about  that  pig-man." 

"  Don't  you  scare  her  yourself,"  returned  Robert 
with  a  touch  of  indignation.  "  You've  got  her  eyes 
to  stickin'  out  now.  Sing  a  pretty  tune,  Carrie. 
Come  on,  now." 


2iO 


OLD   CARAVAN     DAYS. 


The  docile  child  slid  off  the  lounge  and  stood 
against  it,  piping  directly  one  of  her  songs.  Yet 
while  her  trembling  treble  arose,  she  had  a  troubled 
expression,  and  twisted  her  fingers  about  each  other. 

In  an  instant  this  expression  became  one  of  help- 
less terror.  She  crowded  back  against  the  lounge 
and  tried  to  hide  herself  behind  Bobaday  and  Cor- 
inne. 

They  looked  toward  the  door,  and  saw  standing 
there  the  young  ma.i  who  sold  tickets  at  the  entrance 
of  the  pig-headed  individual's  show.  His  hands 
were  in  his  pockets,  but  he  appeared  ready  to  intone 
forth  : 

"Walk  right  in,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  hear 
Fairv  Carrie,  the  child  vocalist !  "  And  the  smokv 
torch  was  not  needed  to  reveal  his  satisfaction  in 
standing  just  where  he  did. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"come  to  mamma  !  " 

THOUGH  the  dissipated  looking  young  man  only 
stood  at  the  door  a  moment,  and  then  walked 
out  on  the  log  steps  at  a  sauntering  pace,  he  left  dismay 
behind  him.  Aunt  Corinne  flew  to  her  mother, 
imploring  that  Carrie  be  hid.  Robert  Day  stood  up 
before  the  child,  frowning  and   shaking   his   head. 

"  All  the  pig-headed  folks  will  be  after  her," 
exclaimed  aunt  Corinne.  "  They'll  come  right  into 
this  room  so  soon  as  that  fellow  tells  them.  Le's 
run  out  the  back  way.  Ma  Padgett !  " 

Grandma  Padgett,  who  had  been  giving  the  full 
strength  of  her  spectacles  to  the  failing  light  and  her 
knitting,  beheld  this  excitement  with  disapproval. 

"  You'll  have  my  needles  out,"  she  objected. 
"  What  Dig-headed  folks  are  after  what  ?  Robert, 
have  you  hurt  Sissy?" 

*'  Why,  Grandma  Padgett,  didn't  you  see  the  door- 
keeper looking  into  the  room  ? " 

211 


If" 


;  *! 

If 


12 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


I 
11  i 


iB  I 


"Some  person  just  looked  in  —  person  they 
appear  to  object  to,"  said  the  strange  man,  giving 
keen  attention  to  what  was  going  forward.  "  Are 
these  vour  own  children,  ma'am  ?  " 

Grandma  Pi;dgett  roded  up  her  knitting,  and  tip- 
ped her  head  slightly  back  to  bring  the  stranger  well 
under  her  view. 

"This  girl  and  the  boy  belong  to  my  family,"  she 
replied. 

"  But  whose  is  the  little  girl  on  the  lounge  ? " 
.  "  I  don't  know,"  replied  Grandma  Padgett,  some- 
what despondently.     "  I  wish  I  did.     She's  a  child 
that  seems  to  be  lost  from  her  friends." 

"  But  you  can't  take  her  away  and  give  her  to  the 
show  people  again,"  exclaimed  aunt  Corinne,  turning 
on  this  stranger  with  nervous  defiance.  "  She's  more 
ours  than  she  is  yours,  and  that  ugly  man  scared  her 
so  she  couldn't  do  anything  but  cry  or  go  to  sleep.  If 
brother  Tip  was  here  he  wouldn't  let  them  have  her." 

"That  man  that  just  went  out,  is  a  showman," 
explained  Robert  Day,  relying  somewhat  on  the 
stranger  for  aid  and  re-inforcement.  "  She  was  in 
the  show  that  he  tended  door  for.  They  were  awful 
people.     Aunt  Krin  and  I  slipped  her  off  with  us." 

"That's  kidnapping.  Stealing,  you  know,"  com- 
mented the  stranger. 


"  COME    TO    MAMMA  ! 


213 


w 


"  7%(?yV/ stolen  her,"  declared  Bobaday. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Look  how  'fraid  she  was !  I  peeped  into  their 
wagon  in  the  woods,  and  as  soon  as  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  saw  the  man  with  the  pig's  head,  she  began 
to  scream,  and  they  smothered  her  up." 

Grandma  Padgett  was  now  sitting  on  the  lounge 
with  Carrie  lifted  into  her  lap.  Her  voice  wa?  steady, 
but  rather  sharp.  *'  This  child's  in  a  fit !  Robert 
Day,  run  to  the  woman  of  the  house  and  tell  her  to 
bring  hot  water  as  soon  as  she  can." 

During  the  confusion  which  followed,  and  while 
Carrie  was  partially  undressed,  rubbed,  dipped,  and 
dosed  between  her  set  teeth,  the  stranger  himself 
went  out  to  the  log  steps  and  stood  looking  from  one 
end  of  the  street  to  the  other.  The  dissipated  young 
man  appeared  nowhere  in  the  twilight. 

Returning,  the  lawyer  found  Grandma  Padgett 
'lolding  her  patient  wrapped  in  shawls.  The  land- 
lady stood  by,  much  concerned,  and  talking  about  a 
great  many  remedies  beside  such  as  she  held  in  her 
hands.  Aunt  Corinne  and  Robert  Day  maintained 
the  attitude  of  guards,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
door. 

Carrie  was  not  only  conscious  again,  but  vide 
awake     and   tingling   through    all   her    little    body. 


2(4 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


1  1 


Her  eyes  had  a  different  expression.  They  saw 
everything,  from  the  candle  the  landlady  held  over 
her,  to  the  stranger  entering  :  they  searched  the  walls 
piteously,  and  passed  the  faces  of  Bobaday  and  aunt 
Corinne  as  if  they  by  no  means  recognized  these 
larger  children. 

"  I  w^nt  my  mamma !  "  she  wailed.  Tears  ran 
down  her  face  and  Grandma  Padgett  wiped  them 
away.     But  Carrie  resisted  her  hand. 

"Go  away!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  aren't  my 
mamma !  " 

"Poor  little  love  !"  sighed  the  landlady,  who  had 
picked  up  some  information  about  the  child. 

"  And  you  aren't  my  mamma ! "  resented  Carrie. 
"  I  want  my  mamma  to  come  to  her  little  Rose." 

"Says  her  name's  Rose,"  said  Grandma  Padgett, 
exchanging  a  flare  of  her  glasses  for  a  startled  look 
from  the  landlady. 

"  She  says  her  name's  Rose,"  repeated  the  land- 
lady, turning  to  the  lawyer  as  a  general  public  who 
ought  to  be  informed.  Robert  and  Corinne  began  to 
hover  between  the  door  and  the  lounge,  vigilant  at 
both  extremes  of  their  beat. 

"  Rose,"  repeated  the  lawyer,  bending  forward  to 
inspect  the  child.  "  Rose  what  ?  Have  you  any 
other   name,  my  little  girl?" ji. -.-..- 


"  COME   TO    MAMMA  !  " 


215 


"  I  not  your  little  girl,"  wept  their  excited  patient. 
"  I'm  my  mamma's  little  girl.  Go  away!  you're  an 
ugly  papa." 

Bobaday  and  Corinne  chuckled  at  this  accusation. 
Aunt  Corinne  could  not  bring  herself  to  regard  the 
lawyer  as  an  ally.  If  he  wished  to  play  a  proper  part 
he  should  have  gone  out  and  driven  the  doorkeeper 
and  all  the  rest  of  those  show-people  from  Greenfield. 
Instead  of   that,  he  stood   about,  listening. 

"  I  haven't  even  seen  such  people,"  murmured  the 
landlady  in  reply  to  a  whispered  question  from 
Grandma  Padgett.  *'  There  was  a  young  man  came 
in  to  ask  if  we  had  more  room,  but  I  didn't  like  his 
looks  and  told  him  no,  we  had  no  more.  Court-limes 
we  can  fill  our  house  if  we  want  to.  But  I'm  always 
particular.  We  don't  take  shows  at  all.  The  shows 
that  come  through  here  are  often  rough.  There  was 
a  magic-'  intern  man  we  let  put  up  with  us.  But  cir- 
cuses and  such  things  can  go  to  the  regular  tavern, 
says  1.  And  if  the  regular  tavern  can't  accommodate 
them,  it's  only  twenty  mile  to  Injunop'Ils." 

"  I  was  afraid  they  might  have  got  into  the  house," 
said  Grandma  Padgett.  "  And  I  wouldn't  know 
what  to  do.  I  couldn't  give  her  up  to  them  again, 
when  the  bare  sight  throws  her  into  spasms, 
unless  I  was  made  to  do  it." 


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'. 

i:  1 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"You  couldn't  prove  any  right  to  her,"  observed 
the  lawyer. 

"  No,  I  couldn't,"  replied  Grandma  Padj^ett, 
expressing  some  injury  in  her  tone.  "But  on  that 
account  ought  I  lo  let  her  go  to  them  that  would 
mistreat  her }" 

"  She  may  be  their  child,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Peo- 
ple have  been  known  to  maltreat  their  children 
before.     You  only  infer  that  they  stole  her." 

Aunt  (^orinne  told  her  nephew  in  a  slightly  guarded 
whisper,  that  she  never  had  seen  such  a  mean  man  as 
that  one  was. 

"  They  ought  to  prc^  it  before  they  get  her,  then," 
said  Grandma  Padgett. 

"  Yes,"  he  assented.     "  They  ought  to  prove  it." 

"  And  they  must  be  right  here  in  the  place,"  she 
continued.     "  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  trouble  with  them." 

"We  could  go  on  to-night,"  exclaimed  Robert  Day. 
"We  could  go  on  to  Indianapolis,  and  that's  where 
the  governor  lives,  Zene  says  ;  and  when  we  told  the 
governor,  he'd  put  the  pig-headed  folks  in  jail." 
Small  notice  being  taken  of  this  suggestion  by  the 
elders,  Robert  and  Corinne  bobbed  their  heads  in 
unison  and  discussed  it  in  whispers  together. 

The  woman  of  the  house  locked  up  that  part  which 
let  out  upon  the  log  steps,  before  she  conducted  her 


" COME   TO    MAMMA ! " 


217 


guests  to  supper.  She  was  1  partisan  of  Grandma 
Padgett's. 

At  table  the  brown-eyed  child  whom  Grandma 
Padgett  still  held  upon  her  lap,  refused  food  and 
continued  to  demand  her  mother.  She  leaned 
against  the  old  lady's  shou.  eeing  every  crack  in  the 
walls,  every  dish  upon  the  cloth,  the  lawyer  who  sat 
opposite,  and  the  concerned  faces  of  Bobaday  and 
Corinne.  Supper  was  too  good  to  be  slighted,  in  spile 
of  Carrie's  dangerous  position.  The  man  of  the  house 
was  a  Quaker,  and  while  his  wife  stood  up  to  wait  on 
the  table,  he  repeatedly  asked  her  in  a  thee-and-thou 
language  highly  edi/ying  to  aunt  Corinne,  for  certain 
pickles  and  jams  and  stuffed  mangoes ;  and  as  she 
brought  them  one  after  the  other,  he  helped  the 
children  plentifully,  twinkling  his  eyes  at  them.  He 
was  a  delicious  old  fellow  ;  as  good  in  his  way  as  the 
jams. 

"And  won't  thee  have  some  in  a  sasser?"he 
inquired  tenderly  of  Carrie,  "^nd  set  up  and  feed 
thyself?  Thee  ought  to  give  thy  grandame  a  chance 
to  eat  her  bite  —  don't  thee  be  a  selfish  little  dear." 

"I  want  my  mamma,"  responded  Carrie,  at  once 
taking  this  twinkle-eyed  childless  father  into  her  con- 
fidence. "I'm  waiting  for  my  mamma.  When  she 
comes  she'll  give  me  my  supper  and  put  me  to  bed." 


!i^' 


i^\ 


■M 


2l8 


OLD   CARAVAN   DAYS. 


■I  I 


1  ■ 


s  I 


:t 


"Thee's  a  big  enough  girl  to  wait  on  thyself,"  said 
the  Quaker,  not  understanding  the  signs  his  wife 
made  to  him. 

"  She  doesn't  live  at  your  house,"  pursued  the 
child.     "  She  lives  at  pa;"a's  house." 

"Where  is  papa's  house?"  inquired  the  lawyer 
helping  himself  to  bread  as  if  that  were  the  chief 
object  of  his  thoughts. 

"  It's  away  off.    Away  over  the  woods." 

"  And  what's  papa's  name  .'"' 

Carrie  appe;  -ed  to  consider  the  questioner  rather 
than  the  question,  and  for  some  unexpressed  reason, 
remained  silent. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  Quaker  from  the  abundant 
goodness  of  his  heart,  "doesn't  thee  mind  that  dam- 
son p'serve  thee  never  let's  me  have  unless  I  take 
the  ag'y  and  shake  for  it?  Some  of  that  would  lim- 
ber a  little  girl's  tongue,  doesn't  thee  think  ? " 

"  It's  in  the  far  pantry  on  a  high  shelf,"  said  the 
woman  of  the  house,  demurring  slightly. 

"I  can  reach  it  down." 

"  No,  I'll  bring  it  myself.  The  jars  are  too 
crowded  or  that  shelf  for  a  man's  hands  to  be 
turned  loose  among  'em."  > 

The  Quaker  smiled,  sparkling  considerably  under 
his  gray  eyebrows  while  his  wife  took  another  light 


ri 


I, 


;     I 


i     I 


I    ' 

I       I 


"  COME  TO   MAMMA." 


!!.;1 


m 


"  COME   TO   MAMMA  !  " 


221 


and  went  after  the  damson  preserve.  She  had  been 
gone  but  a  moment  when  knocking  began  at  the 
front  door,  and  the  Quaker  rose  at  once  from  his 
place  to  answer  it. 

Robert  Day  and  Corinne  leaked  at  each  other  in 
apprehension.  They  pictured  a  fearful  procession 
coming  in.  Even  their  guardian  gave  an  anxious 
start.  She  parted  her  lips  to  beg  the  Quaker  not 
to  admit  any  one,  but  the  request  was  absurd. 

Their  innocent  host  piloted  straight  to  the  dining- 
room  a  woman  whom  Robert  and  Corinne  knew 
directly.  They  had  seen  her  in  the  show,  and  re- 
called her  appearance  many  a  time  afterwards  when 
speculating  about  Carrie's  parents. 

"  Here  you  are  ! "  she  exclaimed  to  the  child  in  a 
high  key.    "  My  poor  little  pet !    Come  to  mamma  !  " 


I' 


Id  '' 


l  I- 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


FAIRY    CARRIK    DKPARTS. 


N' 


ITHER  William  Sebastian,  the  Quaker  land- 
lord, nor  his  wife,  returning  with  the  damson 
preserves  in  her  hand  —  not  even  Grandma  Padgett 
and  her  family,  looked  at  Fairy  Carrie  more  anxiously 
than  the  lawyer. 

"Is  this  your  mother,  Sissy?"  inquired  Grandma 
Padgett. 

"  No,"  replied  the  child,  a  blank,  stupid  expres- 
sion replacing  her  excitement.     "Yes.     Mamma  .'*" 

The  vvcman  sat  down  and  took  Carrie  upon  her 
lap,  twisting  her  curls  and  caressing  her. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  frightening  us  all  to  death  !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "The  child  is  sick;  she  must  have 
some  drugs  to  quiet  her." 

"  She's  just  come  out  of  a  spasm,"  said  Grandma 
Padgett  distantly.  "  Seems  as  if  a  young  man  scared 
her."  :       ; 

.\:''''';'  '  222 


FAIKY    CARKIK    DKI'ARI'S. 


223 


"Yes;  that  was  Jarvey,"  saiti  the  woman.  *"E 
found  her  here.  Carrie  was  always  afraid  of  Jarvey 
after  he  tried  to  teach  her  wire-walking,  and  let  her 
fall.  Jarvey  would  've  fetched  her  right  away  with 
him,  but  'e  knows  I  don't  like  to  'ave  'im  meddle  with 
her  now." 

"  She  says  her  name's  Rose,"  observed  the  wife  of 
William  Sebastian,  taking  no  care  to  veil  her  suspicion. 

"  'Tis  Rose,"  replied  the  woman  indifferently,  pass- 
ing her  hand  in  repeated  strokes  down  the  child's 
face  as  it  wai  pressed  to  her  shoulder.  "  The 
h'other's  professional  —  Fairy  Carrie.  We  started 
'igher.  I  never  expected  to  come  down  with  my 
child  to  such  a  miserable  little  combination.  But 
we've  'ad  misfortunes.  Her  father  died  coming  over. 
We're  English.  We  'ad  good  engagements  in  the 
Provinces,  and  sometimes  played  in  London.  The 
manager  as  fetched  us  over,  failed  to  keep  his  prom- 
ises, and  I  had  no  friends  'ere.  I  had  to  do  what  I 
could."    -r■,^,^.,.■■. ;;-:-.■:;, r.v^--;.-.;.. 

An  actual  resemblance  to  Carrie  appeared  in  the 
woman's  face.  She  wiped  tears  from  the  dark  rings 
under  her  eyes. 

William  Sebastian's  wife  rested  her  knuckles  on  the 
table,  still  regarding  Carrie's  mother  with  perplexed 
distrust. 


: 


224 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAV5. 


;       I, 


While  returning  none  of  the  caresses  she  received, 
the  child  lay  quite  docile  and  submissive. 

"  Well,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  still  distantly, 
*'  folks  bring  uo  their  children  different.  There's 
gypsies  always  live  in  tents,  and  I  suppose  show-peo- 
ple always  expect  to  travel  with  shows.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it.  But  I  do  know  when  that  child 
came  to  me  she'd  been  dosed  nearly  to  death  with 
laudanum,  or  some  sleepin'  drug,  and  didn't  really 
come  to  her  senses  till  after  her  spasm." 

The  woman  cast  a  piteous  expression  at  her  judge. 

"  She's  so  nervous,  poor  pet !  Perhaps  I'm  in  the 
"abit  of  giving  her  too  much.  But  she  lives  in  terror 
of  the  company  we  'ave  to  associate  with,  and  I  can't 
see  her  nerves  be  racked." 

"Thee  ought  to  stop  such  wrong  doings,"  pro- 
nounced William  Sebastian,  laying  his  palm  decid- 
edly on  the  table.  "  Set  theeself  to  some  honest 
work  and  put  the  child  to  sc  ,'iool.  Her  face  is  a  re- 
buke to  us  that  likes  to  feel  at  peace." 

The  woman  glanced  resentfully  at  him. 

"  The  child  is  gifted,"  she  maintained.  •'  I'm  going 
to  make  a  hartist  of  her." 

She  smoothed  Carrie's  wan  hands,  and,  as  if  no- 
ticing her  borrowed  clothing  for  the  first  time,  looked 
about  the  room  for  the  tinsel  and  gauze. 


iM^ 


^  ■ 

..1 . 

1 

1 

1 

FAIRY   CARRFE   DEPARTS. 


227 


"  The  things  she  had  on  her  when  she  come  to  us,'* 
said  Grandma  Padgett,  "  were  h'terally  gone  to  noth- 
ing. The  children  had  run  so  far  and  rubbed  over 
fences  and  sat  in  the  grass.  I  didn't  even  think  it 
was  worth  while  to  save  the  pieces ;  and  I  put  my 
least  one's  clothes  on  her  for  some  kind  of  a  cover- 

"  It  was  her  concert  dress,"  said  the  woman,  re- 
garding aunt  Corinne's  pantalets  with  some  con 
tempt.  "  I  suppose  I  hought  to  thank  you,  but  since 
she  was  hinticed  away,  I  can't.  When  one  'as  her 
feelings  'arrowed  up  for  nearly  a  week  as  mine  have 
been  'arrowed,  one  can't  feel  thankful.  I  will  send 
these  'ere  things  back  by  Jarvey.  Well,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  let  nie  bid  you  good  evening.  The  per- 
formance 'as  already  begun  and  we  professionals  can- 
not shirk  business."'  „  '  -■ 

"  You  give  an  exhibition  in  Greenfield  to-night,  do 
you?"  inquired  the  lawyer.  ^  :  ^ 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  woman,  standing  with  Car- 
rie in  arms.  She  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  at 
her  pocket,  but  threw  him  a  handbill. 

Then  passing  out  through  the  hall,  she  shut  the 
front  door  behind  her.        _,  ,    _  ^-  .;    . 

There  were  two  other  front  doors  to  ths  house, 
though  only  the  central   one   was  in  constant  use. 


"H 


228 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


being  left  open  in  the  summer  weather,  excepting  on 
occasions  such  as  the  present,  when  William  Sebastian's 
wife  thought  it  should  be  locked.  One  of  the  other 
front  doors  opened  into  the  sitting-room,  but  was 
barred  with  a  tall  bureau.  The  third  let  into  a  square 
room  devoted  to  the  lumber  accumulations  of  the 
house.  A  bar  and  shelves  for  decanters  remained 
there,  but  these  William  Sebastian  had  never  permit- 
ted to  be  used  since  his  name  was  painted  on  the 
sign. 

Mrs.  Sebastian  felt  a  desire  to  confuse  the  outgoing 
woman  by  the  three  doors  and  imprison  her  in  the 
old  store  room. 

"  I  don't  think  the  child's  hers,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Sebastian. 

"  Thee  isn't  Solomon,"  observed  the  Quaker,  twink- 
ling at  his  wife.  "  Thee  cannot  judge  who  the  true 
mother  may  be." 

"  She  shouldn't  got  in  here  if  I'd  had  the  keeping 
of  the  door,"  continued  Mrs.  Sebastian.  "  I  may  not 
be  Solomon,  but  I  think  I  could  keep  the  varmints 
out  of  my  own  chicken  house." 

Grandma  Padgett  set  her  glasses  in  a  perplexed 
stare  at  the  door.  ^  ;; 

*'  She  didn't  let  us  say  good-by  to  Fairy  Carrie,' 
exclaimed  aunt  Corinne  indignantly,  **  and  kept  her 


■■m-: 


FAIRY    CARRIE    DEPARTS, 


229 


face  h)d  away  aH  the  lime  so  she  couldn't  look  at  us. 
I'd  hate  to  have  such  a  ma  ! " 

"  She'll  whip  ^'ie  poor  little  thing  for  running  off 
with  us,  when  she  gets  her  away,"  said  Robtit  Day, 
listening  for  doleful  sounds. 

"Well,  what  does  thee  think  of  this  business'" 
inquired  William  Sebastian  of  the  lawyer  wlio  was 
busying  himself  drawing  squares  on  the  tablecloth 
with  a  steel  fork.  "  It  ought  to  come  in  thy  line. 
Thee  deals  with  criminals  and  knows  the  deceitful- 
ness  of  our  human  hearts.  What  does  thee  say  to 
the  woman  ?  " 

The  lawyer  smiled  as  he  laid  down  his  fork,  and 
barely  mentioned  the  conflicting  facts  : 

"  She  took  considerable  pains  to  tell  something 
about  herself  :  more  than  was  necessary.  But  if  they 
kidnapped  the  child,  they  are  dangerously  bold  and 
confident  in  exhibiting  and  claiming  her." 


',  * 


CHAPTER  XX. 


SUNDAY    ON    THE    ROAD. 


AUNT  CORINNE  occupied  with  her-mothera 
huge  apartment  over  the  sitting-room,  in  which 
was  duplicated  the  fireplace  below.  At  this  season 
the  fireplace  was  closed  with  a  black  board  on  which 
paraded  balloon-skirted  women  cut  out  of  fashion 
plates. 

The  chimneys  were  built  in  two  huge  stacks  at  the 
gable-ends  of  the  house,  outside  the  weather  boarding : 
a  plan  the  aichitects  of  this  day  utterly  condemn. 
The  outside  chimney  was,  however,  as  far  oeyond  the 
stick*and-clay  stacks  of  the  cabin,  as  our  fire-stone 
flues  are  now  beyond  it.  This  house  with  log  steps 
no  longer  stands  as  an  old  landmark  by  the  'pike  side 
in  Greenfield.  But  on  that  June  morning  it  looked 
very  pleasant,  and  the  locust-trees  in  front  of  it  made 
the  air  heavy  with  perfume.     There  is  no  flower  like 

the  locust  for  feeding  honey  to  the  sense  of  smell. 

230 


SUNDAY   ON  THE   ROAD. 


231 


Half  the  bees  from  William  Sebastian's  hives  were 
buzzing  overhead,  when  Bobaday  and  aunt  Corinne 
sat  down  by  Zene  on  the  log  steps  to  unload  their 
troubles.  All  three  were  in  their  Sunday  clothes. 
Zene  had  even  greased  his  boots,  and  looked  with 
satisfaction  on  the  moist  surfaces  which  he  stretched 
forth  to  dry  in  the  sun. 

He  had  not  seen  Carrie  borne  away,  but  he  had 
been  to  the  show  afterwards,  and  heard  her  sing  one 
of  her  songs.  He  told  the  children  she  acted  like 
she  never  see  a  thing  before  her,  and  would  go  dead 
asleep  if  they  didn't  stick  phis  in  her  like  they  did  in 
a  woman  he  seen  walkin'  for  money  once.  Robert 
was  fain  to  wander  aside  on  the  subject  of  this  walk- 
ing woman,  but  aunt  Corinne  kept  to  Fairy  Carrie, 
and  made  Zene  tell  every  scrap  of  information  he  had 
about  her. 

"  After  I  rubbed  the  horses  this  mornin',"  he  pro- 
ceeded, "  I  took  a  stroll  around  the  burg,  and  their 
tent  and  wagon's  gone  !  "  - 

"  Gone  I  "  exclaimed  aunt  Corinne.  "  Clear  out 
of  town?  " 

Zene  said  he  allowed  so.  He  could  show  the 
children  where  the  tent  and  wi.gon  stood,  and  it  was 
bare  ground  now.  He  had  also  discovered  the  time- 
honored  circus-ring,  where  every  summer  the  tinseled 


!l 


'\  1 

M 


hi 


SBB 


232 


OLD  CARAVAN  DAYS. 


host  rode  and  tumbled.  But  under  the  circumstances, 
a  circus-ring  had  no  charms. 

*'  Then  they've  got  her,"  said  Bobaday.  "  We'll 
never  see  the  pretty  little  thing  again.  If  I'd  been  a 
man  I  wouldn't  let  that  woman  have  her,  like  Grandma 
Padgett  did.  Grown  folks  are  so  funny.  I  did  wish 
some  grand  people  would  come  in  the  night  and 
say  she  was  their  child,  and  make  the  show  give 
her  up." 

Aunt  Corinne  arose  to  fly  to  her  mother  and  Mrs. 
Sebastian  with  the  news.  But  the  central  door  open- 
ing on  the  instant  and  Mrs.  Sebastian,  her  husband 
and  guest  coming  out,  aunt  Corinne  had  not  far  to 

"The  woman  is  a  stealer/'  she  added  to  her  breath- 
less recital.     *'  She  didn't  even  send  my  things  back." 

"  She's  welcome  to  them,"  said  Grandma  Padgett, 
shaking  her  head,  "  but  I  feel  for  that  child,  whether 
the  rightful  owners  has  her  or  not." 

" This  is  Lords  Day,"  said  William  Sebastian  to 
the  children,  *'  along  the  whole  length  of  the  'pike, 
and  across  the  whole  breadth  of  the  country.  Thy 
little  friend  will  get  her  First  Day  blessing." 

He  wore  a  gray  hat,  half-high  in  the  crown,  and  a 
gray  coat  which  flapped  his  calves  when  he  walked. 
His  trousers  were  of  a  cut  which  reached  nearly  to 


SUNDAY    ON    THE   ROAD. 


233 


his  armpits,  but  this  fact  was  kept  from  the  public  by 
a  vest  crawling  well  toward  his  knees.  Yet  he  looked 
■•beautifully  tidy  and  well-dressed.  His  wife,  who  was 
not  a  Quaker,  had  by  no  means  such  an  air  of  simple 
grandeur. 

Grandma  Padgett  and  aunt  Corinne,  somewhat 
reluctantly  followed  by  Zene,  were  going  to  the  Meth- 
odist church.  Already  its  bell  was  filling  the  air. 
But  Robert  hung  back  and  asked  if  he  might  not  go 
to  Quaker  neeting.  **"  ? 

"Thee  couldn't  sit  and  mecitate,"  said  William 
Sebastian. 

Bobaday  assured  William  Sebastian  he  could  sit 
very  still,  and  he  always  meditated.  When  he  ran 
after  his  grandmother  to  get  her  consent,  it  occurred 
to  him  to  find  out  from  Zene  how  the  pig-headed 
man  was,  and  if  he  looked  as  ugly  as  ever.  But 
aunt  Corinne  scorned  the  question,  and  quite  flew  of 
him  for  asking  it. 

The  Methodist  services  Robert  knew  by  heart ' 
the  open  windows,  the  high  pulpit  where  the  preacher 
silently  knelt  first  thing,  hymn  books  rustling  cheer- 
fully, the  hymn  given  out  two  lines  at  a  time  to  be 
sung  by  the  congregation,  then  the  kneeling  of  every- 
body and  the  prayer,  more  singing,  and  the  sermon, 
perhaps  followed  by  an  exhortation,  when  the  preacher 


■•X, 


234 


OLD  CARAVAN    DAYS. 


talked  loud  enough  for  the  boys  sitting  out  on  the 
fence  to  hear  every  word.  Perhaps  a  few  children 
whispered,  or  a  baby  cried  and  its  mother  took  it  out.^ 
Everybody  seemed  happy  and  astir.  After  church 
there  was  so  much  hand-shaking  that  the  house  emptied 
very  slowly.       •  ■     ■ 

But  on  his  return  he  described  the  Quaker  meeting 
to  aunt  Corinne. 

"  They  all  sat  and  sat,"  said  Bobaday.  "  It  was  a 
little  bit  of  a  house  a«d  not  half  so  many  folks  could 
get  in  it  as  sit  in  the  corners  by  the  pulpit  in  Metho- 
dist meeting.  And  they  sat  and  sat,  and  nobody  said 
a  word  or  gave  out  a  hymn.  The  women  looked  at 
the  cracks  in  the  floor.  You  could  hear  everything 
outdoors.  After  a  Ion;;  time  they  all  got  up  and 
shook  hands.  Mrs.  Sebastian  said  to  Mr.  Sebastian 
when  we  came  away,  'The  spirit  didn't  appear  to 
move  anybody  this  morning.'  And  he  said,  '  No : 
but  it  was  a  blessed  meeting.'  " 

*'  Didn't  your  legs  cramp  ?  "  inquired  aunt  Corinne. 

"  Yes ;  and  my  nose  tickled  and  I  wanted  to 
sneeze." 

"  But  you  dursn't  move  your  thumb  even.  That  law- 
yer that  ate  supper  here  last  night  would  like  such  a 
meeting,  wouldn't  he  ?  " 

The  lawyer  was  coming  up  the  log  steps  while 


I 


SUNDAY   ON   THE   ROAD. 


235 


Robert  spoke  of  him.  And  with  him  was  a  lady  who 
looked  agitated,  and  whom  he  had  to  assist. 

Robert  and  Corinne,  at  the  open  sitting-room 
window,  looked  at  each  other  with  quick  apprehen- 
sion. 

"Aunt  Krin,  that's  her  mother,"  said  aunt  Krin's 
nephew.  His  young  relative  grasped  his  arm  and 
exclaimed  in  an  awe-struck  whisper : 

"  Bobaday  Padgett !  " 


'  I 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


HER    MOTHER    ARRIVES. 


BOTH  children  regarded  the  strange  lady  with 
breathless  interest  when  the  lawyer  seated  her 

in  the  room.  They  silently  classed  her  among  the  rich, 
handsome  and  powerful  people  of  the  earth.  She 
had  what  in  later  years  they  learned  to  call  refine- 
ment, but  at  that  date  they  could  give  it  no  name 
except  niceness.  When  Grandma  Padgett  and  the 
landlord's  wife  were  summoned  to  the  room,  she 
grew  even  younger  and  more  elegant  in  appearance, 
though  hei  face  was  anxious  and  her  eyes  were  dark- 
ened by  crying. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Tracy  from  Baltimore,"  said  the 
lawyer.  *'  She  was  .n  Chicago  yesterday,  and  I  tele- 
graphed for  her  a  half-hour  or  so  before  the  child  was 
taken  out  of  the  house.  She  came  as  far  as  Indian- 
apolis, and  found  no  Pan  Handle  train,  this  morn- 
ing, so  she  was  obliged  to  get  a  carriage  and  drive 

236 


HER    MOTHER    ARRIVES. 


33? 


!■ 


over.     Mrs.  Sebastian,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
set  out  something  for  her  to  eat  as  soon  as  you  can  ? 


•'THIS    IS    lord's    day,"    SAID    WILLIAM    SEBASTIAN. 

She  has    not  thought  of   eating    since    she   started. 

And  Mrs. what  did   I   understand   your  name 

to  be  ? "  _^.. .  „ . „, _  .__.„ 


^ 


I 


fl 


238 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


*'  Padgett,"  replied  the  children's  guardian. 

"  Yes ;  Mrs.  Padgett.  Mrs.  Padgett,  my  client  is 
hunting  a  lost  child,  and  hearing  this  little  girl  was 
with  you  some  days,  she  would  like  to  make  some 
inquiries." 

"  But  the  child's  taken  clear  away  1 "  exclaimed 
Grandma  Padgett- 

"  If  you  drove  out  from  Injunop'lis,"  said  the 
Quaker's  wife,  "  you  must  have  met  the  show-wagon 
on  the  'pike." 

,   "  The  show  wagon  took  to  a  by-road,"  observed  the 
lawyer.     "  We  have  men  tracking  it  now." 

"I  knew  it  wasn't  right  for  them  to  carry  off  that 
child,"  said  the  Quaker's  wife,  "  and  if  I'd  tended 
the  door  they  wouldn't  carried  her  off." 

"  It  was  best  not  to  arouse  their  suspicions  before 
she  could  be  identified,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  It's  easy 
enough  to  take  her  when  we  know  she  Is  the  child  we 
want." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  the  Quaker's  wife. 

"Easy  enough.  The  vagabonds  can't  put  them- 
selves beyond  arrest  before  we  can  reach  them,  and 
on  the  other  hand,  they  could  make  a  case  against  us 
if  we  meddle  with  ihem  unnecessarily.  Since  Mrs. 
Tracy  came  West  a  couple  of  weeks  ago,  and  since 
she  engaged  me  in  her  cause,  we  have  had  a  dozen 


HER    MOTHF.R    ARRIVES. 


339 


wrong  parties  drawn  up  for  examination  ;  children  of 
all  ages  and  sizes." 

"  Did  she,"  inquired  Mrs.  Tracy,  bringing  her  chair 
close  to  Grandma  Padgett  and  resting  appealing  eyes 
on  the  blue  glasses,  '*  have  hair  that  curled  ?  Rather 
long  hair  for  a  child  of  her  years." 

"  Yes'm,"  replied  Grandma  Padgett  with  dignified 
tenderness.  "  Long  for  a  child  about  five  or  six,  as  I 
took  her  to  be.     But  she  was  babyish  for  all  that." 

"Yes  —  oh,  yes  !"  said  Mrs    Tracy. 

"And  curly.     How  long  since  you  lost  her  ?  " 

The  lady  from  Baltimore  sobbed  on  her  handker- 
chief, but  recovered  with  a  resolute  effort,  and  replied  : 

"  It  was  nearly  three  months  ago.  She  was  on  the 
street  with  her  nurse,  and  was  taken  away  almost 
miraculously.  We  could  not  find  a  trace.  Her  papa 
is  dead,  but  I  have  always  kept  his  memory  alive  to 
her.  My  friends  have  helped  me  search,  but  it  has 
seemed  day  after  day  as  if  I  could  not  bear  the  strain 
any  longer." 

Grandma  Padgett  took  off  her  glasses  and  polished 
them. 

*'  I  know  how  you  feel,"  she  observed,  glancing  at 
Robert  Day  and  Corinne.  "I  had  a  scare  at  Rich- 
mond, in  this  State." 

"  Are  these  your  children  ? " 


I  mu 


I  4 


IB 

1:1 


240 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  My  youngest  and  my  grandson.  It  was  their 
notion  of  running  away  witii  the  little  girl,  and  their 
gettin'  lost,  that  put  me  to  such  a  worry." 

Mrs.  Tracy  extended  her  hands  to  Bobaday  and 
aunt  Corinne,  drawing  one  to  each  side  of  her,  and 
made  the  most  minute  inquiries  about  Fairy  Carrie. 
She  knew  that  the  child  had  called  herself  Rose,  and 
that  she  had  been  in  a  partially  Etupified  state  during 
her  stay  with  the  little  caravan.  But  when  Robert 
mentioned  the  dark  circles  in  the  child's  face,  and 
her  crying  behind  the  tent,  the  lady  turned  white  and 
leaned  back,  closing  her  eyes  and  groping  for  a  small 
yellow  bottle  in  her  pockec.  Having  smelled  of  this, 
she  recovered  herself. 

But  aunt  Corinne,  in  sp;te  of  her  passionate  sym- 
pathy, could  barely  keep  from  tittering  at  the  latter 
action.  Though  the  smelling  bottle  was  yellow, 
instead  of  a  dull  blue,  like  the  one  Ma  Padgett 
kept  in  the  top  bureau  drawer  at  home,  aunt  Corinne 
recognized  her  enemy  and  remembered  the  time  she 
hunted  out  that  treasure  and  took  a  long,  strong,  tre- 
mendous snutT  at  it,  expecting  to  revel  in  odors  of 
delight.  Her  head  tingled  again  while  she  thought 
about  it ;  she  felt  a  thousand  needles  running  through 
her  nose,  and  saw  herself  sitting  on  the  floor  shed- 
ding tears.     How  anybody  could  snifif  at  a  hartsh  jrn 


HER    MOTHER    ARRIVES. 


241 


bottle  and  find  it  a  consolation  or  restorative  under 
any  circumstances,  she  could  not  understand. 

Mrs.  Sebastian,  in  her  First  Day  clothes,  and 
unwilling  to  lose  a  word  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
sitting-room,  had  left  the  early  dinner  to  her  assistant. 
But  she  brought  in  a  cup  of  strong  tea,  and  some 
cream  toast,  begging  the  bereaved  mother  to  stay  her 
stomach  with  that  uniil  the  meal's  victuals  was  ready. 
Mrs.  Tracy  appeared  to  have  forgotten  that  her 
stomach  needed  staying,  but  she  thanked  the  land- 
lady and  drank  the  tea  as  if  thirst}',  between  her  fur- 
ther inquiries  about  the  child. 

"Are  you  not  sure,'  she  asked  the  lawyer,  "that 
we  are  on  the  right  track  this  time?" 

He  said  he  was  not  sure,  but  irdications  were  bet- 
ter than  they  had  been  before. 

'*  I  don't  wish  to  reproach  you,"  said  Mrs.  Tracy, 
**butit  is  a  fearful  thought  to  me  that  they  may  be 
poisoning  my  child  with  opiates  again  and  injuring 
her  perhaps  for  life.     You  might  have  detained  her." 

"That's  what  I've  said  right  along,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Sebastian. 

"  But  there  was  that  woman  who  pretended  to  be 
her  rightful  rnother,' observed  Grandma  Padget,  who, 
though  not  obliged  to  set  up  any  defence,  wanted  the 
case  seen  in  all  its  bearings.      "  There  she  set,  eas} 


242 


OLD   CARAVAN   DAYS. 


and  deliberate,  telling  her  story,  how  the  little  thing's 
father  died  comin'  over  the  water,  and  how  hard  it 
was  for  her  to  do  the  right  thing  by  the  child.  She 
maintained  she  only  dosed  the  child  to  keep  her  from 
sufferin'.  I  didn't  believe  her,  but  we  had  nothing  to 
set  up  against  her."  ^ 

Mrs.  Tracy  became  as  erect  and  fierce  in  aspect  as 
such  a  delicate  creature  could  become.  The  long 
veil  of  crape  which  hung  from  her  bonnet  and  swept 
the  floor,  emphasizing  the  blackness  of  all  her  other 
garments,  trembled  as  she  rose. 

"  Why  am  I  sitting  here  and  waiting  for  anything, 
when  that  woman  is  claiming  my  child  for  her  own  } 
The  idea  of  anybody's  daring  to  own  my  child  !  It  is 
more  cruel  than  abuse.  I  never  thought  of  their 
being  able  to  teach  her  to  forget  me  —  that  they  could 
confuse  her  mamma  with  another  person  in  her 
mind!" 

*'  You're  tired  out,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  and  mat- 
ters are  moving  just  as  rapidly  as  if  you  were 
chasing  over  all  the  roads  in  Hancock  County.  You 
must  quiet  yourself,  ma'am,  or  you'll  break  down." 

Mrs.  Tracy  made  apparent  effort  to  quiet  herself. 
She  took  hold  of  Grandma  Padgett's  arm  when  they 
where  called  out  to  dinner.  Robert  walked  on  the 
other  side  of  her,  having  her  band  on  his  shoulder, 


I 


HER    MOTHER   ARRIVES. 


243 


and  aunt  Corinne  went  behind,  carrying  the  end  of 
the  crape  veil  as  if  Fairy  Carrie's  real  mother  could 
thus  receive  support  and  consolation  through  the  back 
of  the  head. 

Nobody  was  more  concerned  about  her  trouble 
than  William^Sebastian.  And  he  remembered  more 
tempting  pickles  and  jellies  than  had  ever  been  on 
the  table  before  at  once.  Yet  the  dinner  was  soon 
over. 

Grandma  Padgett  said  she  had  intended  to  go  a 
piece  on  the  road  that  afternoon  anyhow,  but  she 
could  not  feel  easy  in  her  mind  to  go  very  far  until 
the  child  was  found.  Virginia  folks  and  Marylanders 
were  the  same  as  neighbors.  If  Mrs.  Tracy  would 
take  a  seat  in  the  carriage,  liiey  would  make  it  their 
business  to  dally  along  the  road  and  meet  the  word 
the  men  out  searching  were  to  bring  in.  Mrs.  Trarv 
clung  to  Grandma  Padgett's  arm  as  if  she  knew  what 
a  stay  the  Ohio  neighbors  had  always  found  this 
vigorous  old  lady.  The  conveyance  which  brought  her 
from  Indianapolis  had  been  sent  back.  She  was  glad 
to  be  with  the  Padgetts.  No  railroad  trains  would 
pass  through  until  next  day.  William  Sebastian  helped 
her  up  the  carriage  steps,  and  aunt  Corinne  set  down 
reverently  on  the  back  seat  beside  her.  Zene  was 
already  rumbling  ahead  with  the  wagon.  Mrs.  Sebas- 


i 
I 

I 


m 

k 


M 


244 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


tian  came  down  the  steps  of  log  and  put  a  hearty  lunch 
in.    It  was  particularly  for  the  child  they  hoped  to  find. 


MRS.   TRACY   MAKES   INQUIRIES. 


"  Make  her  eat  something,"  she  counselled  the  mother. 
"  She  hardly  tasted  a  bite  of  supper  last  night,  and 


HER   MOTHER   ARRIVES. 


245 


;.:j 


according  to  all  accounts,  she  ain't  in  hands  that 
understands  feedin'  children  now." 

"The  Lord  prosper  all  thy  undertakings,"  said 
William  Sebastian,  "  and  don't  thee  forget  to  let  us 
know  what  hour  we  may  begin  to  rejoice  with  thee." 

The  lawyer  touched  his  hat  as  Hickory  and  Henry 
stepped  away  on  the  plank  'pike.  He  remained  in 
Greenfield,  and  was  to  ride  after  them  if  any  news 
came  in  about  Fairy  Carrie. 


i     |.v 


/ ' 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


A    COUNTRY   SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


HOWEVER  we  may  spend  our  Sabbath,  it  is 
different  from  the  other  days  of  the  week. 
I  have  often  thought  the  little  creatures  of  field  and 
woods  knew  the  difference.  They  run  or  sing  with 
more  gladness  and  a  less  business-like  air.  The 
friskiest  lambs,  measuring  strength  with  each  other 
by  stiff-legged  jumps,  are  followed  by  gentle  bleats 
from  their  mothers,  and  come  back  after  a  frolic  to 
meditate  and  switch  their  tails.  The  fleecy  roll  of  a 
lamb's  tail,  and  the  dimples  which  seem  to  dint  its 
first  coat,  the  pinkness  of  its  nose,  and  the  drollery 
of  its  eye,  are  all  worth  watching  under  a  cloudless 
Sunday  sky. 

As  the  carriage  and  wagon  rolled  along  the  'pike, 
they  met  other  vehicles  full  of  people  driving  for  an 
outing,  or  going  to  afternoon  Sunday-school  held  in 
schoolhouses  along  the  various  by-roads. 

Mrs.  Tracy  leaned  forward   every  time   a   buggy 


r    f 

! 


A   COUNTRY   SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


247 


passed  the  wagon,  and  scanned  its  occupants  until 
they  turned  towards  the  right  to  pass  Grandma 
Padgett. 

The  first  messenger  they  met  entered  on  the  'pike 
from  a  cross-road  some  distance  ahead  of  them,  but 
was  checked  in  his  canter  toward  Greenfield  by  Zene, 
who  stopped  the  wagon  for  a  parley.  Mrs.  Tracy  was 
half  irritaled  by  such  ofiiciousness,  and  Grandma 
Padgett  herself  intended  to  call  Zene  to  account, 
when  he  left  the  white  and  gray  and  came  limping  to 
the  carriage  at  the  rider's  side.  However,  the  news 
he  helped  to  bring,  and  the  interest  he  took  in  it, 
at  once  excused  him.  This  man,  scouring  the  country 
north  and  south  since  early  morning,  had  heard  noth- 
ing of  the  show-wagon.  :       ,  -  :         ^t:. 

It  might  be  somewhere  in  the  woods,  or  jogging 
innocently  along  a  dirt  road.  It  was  no  longer 
an  object  to  the  searchers.  He  believed  the  woman 
and  child  had  left  it,  intending  to  rejoin  it  at  some 
appointed  place  when  all  excitement  was  over.  He 
said  he  thought  he  had  the  very  woman  and  child 
back  here  a  piece,  though  they  might  give  him  the 
slip  before  he  could  bring  anybody  to  certainly 
identify  them.  -  ^  .,._,.,  , ,  ,;;^ 

"  My  little  one  '  give  me  the  slip '  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Tracy  indignantly. 


•"   ! 


1 

■e 

j 
i 

^m 

i 

'if 

9^H 

248 


OLD  CARAVAN    DAYS. 


■■X. 


The  man  said  his  meaning  was,  she  might  be  slipped 
off  by  her  keeper. 

"  Where  have  you  got  them  ?  "  inquired  Grandma 
Padgett. 

"  He  saw  'em  goin'  into  Sunday-school,  marm," 
explained  Zene.  "  There's  a  meetin'-house  over 
yonder  three  or  four  mile,"  pointing  with  his  whip. 

"  It's  the  unlikeliest  place  that  ever  was,"  said  the 
messenger,  polishing  his  horse's  wet  neck.  "  And  I 
suppose  that's  what  the  woman  thought  when  she 
slipped  in  there.  If  I  hadn't  happened  by  in  the 
nick  of  time  I  wouldn't  mistrusted.  She  didn't  see 
me.  She  was  goin'  up  the  steps,  with  her  back  to 
the  road,  and  the  meetin'-house  sets  a  considerable 
piece  from  the  fence.  They  was  all  singin'  loud 
enough  to  drown  a  horse's  feet  in  the  dust." 

"  And  both  were  like  the  descriptions  you  had  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Tracy. 

"  So  nigh  like  that  I  half-pulled  up  and  had  a 
notion  to  go  in  and  see  for  myself.  Then,  thinks  I, 
you  better  wait  and  bring  the  ones  that  would  know 
for  sure.     There  ain't  no  harm  in  that." 

Before  the  mother  could  speak  again,  Grandma 
Padgett  told  the  man  to  turn  back  and  direct  them, 
and  Zene  to  fall  behind  the  carriage  with  his  load. 
He  could  jog  leisurely  in  the  wake  of  the  carriage,  to 


A  COUNTRY   SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


249 


avoid  getting  separated  from  it :  that  would  be  all  he 
need  attempt.  She  took  up  her  whip  to  touch  Hick- 
ory and  Henry. 

After  turning  off  on  the  by-road,  Grandma  Padgett 
heard  Zene  leisurely  jogging  in  the  wake  of  the  car- 
riage, and  remembered  for  a  moment,  with  dismay, 
the  number  of  breakable  things  in  his  load.  He 
drove  all  the  way  to  the  meeting-house  with  the  white 
and  gray  constantly  rearing  their  noses  from  contact 
with  the  hind  carriage  curtains ;  up  swells,  when  the 
road  wound  through  stump-bordered  sward,  and 
down  into  sudden  gullies,  when  all  his  movables 
clanged  and  rumbled,  as  if  protesting  against  the 
unusual  speed  they  had  to  endure.  Zene  was  as  anx- 
ious to  reach  the  meeting-house  as  the  man  who 
cantered  ahead. 

They  drew  up  to  where  it  basked  on  the  rising 
ground,  an  old  brown  frame  with  lichens  crusting  the 
roof.  There  were  two  front  doors,  a  flight  of  wooden 
steps  leading  up  to  each,  and  three  high  windows 
along  the  visible  side.  All  these  stood  open,  letting 
out  a  pleasant  hum,  through  which  the  cracked  voice 
of  an  old  mah  occasionally  broke.  No  hump  of  belfry 
stood  upon  its  back.  The  afternoon  sun  was  the 
bell  which  called  that  neighborhood  together  for  Sun- 
day-school.    And  this  unconscious  duty  performed, 


ii^ 


=5° 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


the  afternoon  sun  now  brightened  the  graves  which 
crowded  to  the  very  fence,  brought  out  the  glint  and 
polish  of  the  new  marble  headstones,  or  showed  the 


THE    FIRST    MESSKNGER. 


grooved  names  in  the  old  and  leaning  slate  ones. 
Some  graves  were  enclosed  by  rails,  and  others  barely 
lifted  their  tops  above  the  long  grass.  There  were 
baby-nests  hollowing  into  the  turf,  and  clay-colored 


A    COUNTRY    SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


251 


piles  set  head  and  foot  with  fresh  boards.  And  on 
all  these  aunt  Corinne  looked  with  an  interest  which 
graves  never  failed  to  rouse  in  her,  no  matter  what 
the  occasion  might  be. 

The  horses  switched  their  tails  along  the  outside 
of  the  fence.  One  backed  his  vehicle  as  far  as  his 
hitching-striip  would  let  him,  against  the  wheels  of 
another's  buggy,  that  other  immediately  responding 
by  a  similar  movt^ment.  Some  of  them  turned  their 
heads  and  challenged  Hickory  and  Henry  and  the 
saddle-horse  with  speaking  whinneys.  "VVhe-hee- 
hee-hee !  You  going  to  be  tied  up  here  for  the 
grass-flies  to  bite  too  ?  Where  do  you  come  from, 
and  why  don't  you  kick  your  folks  for  going  to  after- 
noon meeting  in  hot  June  time } " 

The  pilot  of  the  caravan  had  helped  take  horse- 
thieves  in  his  time,  and  he  considered  this  a  similar 
excursion.  He  dismounted  swiftly,  but  with  an  air 
of  caution,  and  as  he  let  down  the  carriage  steps,  said 
he  thought  they  better  surround  the  house. 
5  But  Mrs.  Tracy  reached  the  £;round  as  if  she  did 
not  see  him,  and  ran  through  the  open  gate  with  her 
black  draperies  flowing  in  a  rush  behind  her.  Robert 
Day  and  aunt  Corinne  were  anxious  to  follow,  and 
the  man  tied  Grandma  Padgett's  horses  to  a  rail 
fence  across  the  road,  while  some  protest  was  made 


III 


i 


I 


252 


OLD  CARAVAN    DAYS. 


among  the  fly-bitten  row  against  the  while  cover  of 
Zene's  moving-wagon. 

Although  Bobaday  felt  excited  and  eager  as  he 
trotted  up  the  griss  path  after  Mrs.  Tracy,  the  spirit 
of  the  country  Sunday-school  came  out  of  doors  to 
meet  him. 

There  were  the  class  of  old  men  and  the  class  of 
old  women  in  the  corner  seats  each  side  of  the  pulpit, 
and  their  lesson  was  in  the  Old  Testament.  The 
young  ladies  listened  to  the  instruction  of  the  smart 
young  man  of  the  neighborhood,  and  his  sonorous 
words  rolled  against  the  echoing  walls.  He  usually 
taught  the  winter  district  and  singing  schools.  The 
young  girl  who  did  for  summer  schoolmiss,  had  a 
class  of  rosebud  children  in  the  :.iiddle  of  the  meeting- 
house, and  they  crowded  to  her  lap  and  crawled  up 
on  iier  shoulders,  though  their  mothers,  in  the  mothers' 
class,  shook  warning  heads  at  them.  Scent  of  cloves, 
roses  and  sweetbrier  mingled  with  the  woody  smell 
of  a  building  shut  close  s!x  days  out  of  seven.  Two 
rascals  in  the  boys'  class,  who,  evading  their  teacher's 
count,  had  been  down  under  the  seats  kicking  each 
other  with  stiif  new  shoes,  emerged  just  as  the  libra- 
rian came  around  with  a  pile  of  books,  ready  to  fight 
good-naturedly  over  the  one  with  the  brightest  cover. 
The  boy  who  got  possession  would  never  read  the 


I 


A   COUNTRY   SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


aS3 


book,  but  he  could  pull  it  out  of  his  jacket  pocket 
and  tantalize  the  other  boy  going  home. 

The  Sunday-school  was  a  wholesome,  happy  place, 
even  for  these  young  heathen  who  were  enjoying 
their  bodies  too  much  to  care  particularly  about  their 
souls.  And  when  the  superintendent  stood  up  to  rap 
the  school  to  order  for  the  closo  of  the  session,  and 
line  out  one  of  Watts's  sober  hymns,  there  was  a 
pleasant  flutter  of  getting  ready,  and  the  smart  young 
man  of  the  neighborhood  took  his  tuning-fork  from 
his  vest  pocket  to  hit  against  his  teeth  so  he  could 
set  the  tune.  He  wore  a  very  short-tailed  coat,  and 
had  his  hair  brushed  up  in  a  high  roach  from  his  fore- 
head, and  these  two  facts  conspired  to  give  him  a 
brisk  and  wide  awake  appearance  as  he  stepped  into 
the  aisle  holding  a  singing  book  in  his  hand. 

But  no  peaceful,  long-drawn  hymn  floated  through 
the  windows  and  wandered  into  the  woods.  The 
twang  of  the  tuning-fork  was  drowned  by  a  succession 
of  cries.  The  smart  young  man's  eyebrows  went  up 
to  meet  his  roach  while  he  stood  in  the  aisle  astonished 
to  see  a  lady  in  trailing  black  clothes  pounce  upon  a 
child  strange  to  the  neighborhood,  and  exclaim  over, 
and  cover  it  with  kisses. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


FORWARD. 


SOME  of  the  boys  climbed  upon  seats  to  look, 
and  there  was  confusion.  A  baby  or  two  in  the 
mothers'  class  began  to  cry,  but  the  mothers  them- 
selves soon  understood  what  was  taking  place,  and 
forgot  the  decorum  of  Sunday-school,  to  crowd  up  to 
Mrs.  Tracy. 

**  The  child  is  hers,"  one  said  to  another.  "  It 
must  have  been  lost.     Who  brought  it  in  here  ?  " 

The  fortunate  messenger  who  had  been  successful 
in  his  undertaking,  talked  in  undertones  to  the  super- 
intendent, telling  the  whole  story  with  an  air  of  play- 
ing the  most  important  part  in  it.  In  return,  the 
superintendent  mentioned  the  notice  he  had  taken  of 
those  two  strangers,  his  attempt  to  induce  the  woman 
to  go  to  the  mothers'  class,  her  restlessness  and  the 
child's  lassitude. 

The  smart  young  man  stood  close  by,  receiving  the 
correct  version  of  the  affair,  and  holding  his  tuning- 

aS4 


FORWARD. 


255 


fork  and  book  behind  him;  and  all  the  children, 
following  their  elders,  flocked  to  seats  around  Mrs. 
Tracy,  gazing  over  one  another's  shoulders,  until  she 
looked  up  abashed  at  the  chaos  her  excitement  had 
made. 

"  It's  really  your  child  ? "  said  Grandma  Padgett, 
sitting  down  beside  the  mother  with  a  satisfied  and 
benevolent  expression. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  yes  !  Don't  you  know  mamma,  dar- 
ling?" 

For  reply,  the  little  girl  was  clinging  mutely  to  her 
mother's  neck.  Her  curls  were  damp  and  her  eyes 
very  dark-ringed.  But  there  was  recognition  in  her 
face  very  different  from  the  puzzled  and  crouching 
obedience  she  had  yielded  to  the  one  who  claimed 
her  before, 

"  They've  been  dosing  her  again,"  pronounced 
Grandma  Padgett  severely. 

"  And  she's  all  beat  out  tramping,  poor  little  thing ! " 
said  one  of  the  neighborhood  mothers.  "  Look  at 
them  dusty  feet !  " 

Mrs.  Tracy  gathered  the  dusty  feet  into  her  lap  and 
wiped  them  with  her  lace  handkerchief. 

Word  went  forth  to  the  edge  of  the  crowd  that  the 
little  girl  needed  water  to  revive  her,  and  half  a  dozen 
boys  raced  to  the  nearest  house  for  a  tin  pailful. 


m 


itui 


\<'\\ 


il 


jggj',  y.'sSfiSfmartf 


256 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


I 


With  love-feast  tenderness  the  neighborhood  moth- 
ers administered  the  dripping  cup  to  little  Rose 
Tracy  when  the  boys  returned.  Her  face  and  head 
were  bathed,  and  hands  and  feet  cooled.  The  old 
women  all  prescribed  for  her,  and  her  mother  listened 
to  everybody  with  distended  eyes,  but  fell  into  such 
frequent  paroxysms  of  kissing  her  little  girl  that  some 
of  the  boys  ducked  their  heads  to  chuckle.  This 
extravagant  affection  was  more  than  they  could 
endure. 

"  But  Where's  that  woman  ?  "  inquired  Robert  Day. 
He  stood  up  on  the  seat  behind  |iis  grandmother  and 
Mrs.  Tracy,  and  could  see  all  over  the  house,  but  his 
eyes  roamed  unsuccessfully  after  the  English  player. 
The  people  having  their  interest  diverted  by  that  ques- 
tion, turned  their  heads  and  began  to  ask  each  other 
where  she  was.  Nobody  had  noticed  her  leave  the 
church,  but  it  was  a  common  thing  to  be  passing  in 
and  out  during  Sunday- school.  She  had  made  her 
escape.  Half  the  assembly  would  have  pursued  her 
on  the  instant ;  she  could  not  be  far  away.  But  Mrs. 
Tracy  begged  them  to  let  her  go ;  she  did  not  want 
the  woman,  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  her,  and 
never  wished  to  hear  of  her  again.  Whatever  harm 
was  done  to  her  child,  was  done.  Her  child  was  what 
she  had  come  in  search  of,  and  she  had  it. 


■i ' 


m 


:..-r. :.. 

,*- . 

-  "  -  '  ■'--■/  'I    °'     '    ■ 

'•r    -: 

, 

» 

, 

i 

t 

\ 

• 

1 

' 

1      % 

1 

t 

• 

i 

1 

*l 

' 



1 

FORWARD. 


259 


So  the  group  eager  to  track  a  kidnapper  across 
fields  and  along  fence-corners,  calmed  their  zeal  and 
contented  themselves  with  going  outdoors  and  betting 
on  what  direction  the  fugitive  from  punishment  had 
taken. 

Perhaps  she  had  grown  to  love  little  Rose,  and 
was  punished  in  having  to  give  her  up.  In  any  case, 
the  Pig-headed  man  and  the  various  people  attached 
to  his  show,  no  more  appeared  on  the  track  followed 
by  Grandma  Padgett's  caravan.  Mrs.  Tracy  would 
not  have  him  sought  out  and  arrested,  and  he  only 
remained  in  the  minds  of  Robert  and  aunt  Corinne 
as  a  type  of  monster. 

When  they  left  the  meeting-house,  the  weather  had 
changed.  People  dismissed  from  Sunday-school  with 
scanter  ceremony  than  usual,  got  into  their  convey- 
ances to  hurry  home,  for  thunder  sounded  in  the 
west,  and  the  hot  air  was  already  cooled  by  a  rush  of 
wet  fragrance  from  the  advancing  rain. 

It  proved  to  be  a  quick  shower,  white  and  violent 
while  it  lasted,  making  the  fields  smoke,  and  walling 
out  distant  views.  Spouts  of  water  ran  off  the 
carriage  top  down  the  oil  cloth  apron  which  protected 
Robert  and  his  grandmother.  Mrs.  Tracy  held  her 
little  girl  in  her  lap,  and  leaned  back  with  an  expres- 
sion of  perfect  happiness.     The  rain  came  just  as  her 


i?^ii 


26o 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


comfort  had  come,  after  so  much  parching  suspense. 
Aunt    Corinne    wondered    in    silence    if    anything 


THEY   BAUE   I-AIRV   CARRIE   GOOD-BY. 


I 


could  be  nicer  than  riding  under  a  snug  cover  on 
which  the  sky-streams  pelted,  through  a  wonderland 
of  fragrance.     Every  grateful  shrub  and  bit  of  sod, 


FORWARD. 


261 


the  pawpaw  leaves  and  spicewood  stems,  the  half- 
formed  hazel-nuts  in  fluted  sheaths,  and  even  new 
hay-stacks  in  the  meadows,  breathed  out  their  best  to 
the  rain.  The  world  never  seems  so  fresh  and 
lovable  as  after  a  June  shower. 

Presently  the  sun  was  shining,  and  the  ground- 
incense  steaming  with  stronger  sweetness,  and  they 
came  to  the  wet  'pike  stretching  like  a  russet-colored 
ribbon  east  and  west,  and  turned  west  toward  Indian- 
apolis. 

On  the  'pike  they  met  another  of  the  men  sent  out 
by  Mrs.  Tracy  and  the  lawyer.  His  horse's  coat  was 
smoking.  Mrs.  Tracy  took  up  a  gold  pencil  attached 
to  her  watch,  and  wrote  a  note  to  the  lawyer.  She 
was  going  on  to  the  city,  and  would  return  directly 
home  with  her  child.  The  note  she  sent  by  the  men, 
after  thanking  them,  and  paying  them  in  what  Robert 
and  his  aunt  considered  a  prodigal  and  wealthy  manner. 

So  large  a  slice  out  of  the  afternoon  had  their  trip 
to  the  meeiiiig-house  taken,  that  it  was  quite  dark 
when  the  party  drove  briskly  into  Indianapolis. 

It  was  a  little  city  at  that  date.  Still,  Bobaday  felt 
exalted  by  clanging  car-bells  and  railroad  crossings. 
It  being  Sunday  evening,  the  freights  were  making 
up.  The  main  street,  called  Washington,  was  but  an 
extension  of  the  'pike,  stretching  broad  and  straight 


ii 


262 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


through  the  city.  He  noticed  houses  with  balconies, 
set  back  on  sloping  lawns.  Here  a  light  disclosed 
a  broad  hall  with  dim  stairs  at  the  back.  And  in 
another  place  children  were  playing  under  trees  ;  he 
could  hear  their  calls,  and  by  straining  his  eyes, 
barely  discern  that  they  wore  sumptuous  white  city 
raiment.  The  tide  of  home-makers  and  beautifiers 
had  not  then  rolled  so  far  north  of  East  Washing- 
ton street  as  to  leave  it  a  mere  boundary  line. 

Grandma  Padgett  and  her  party  stopped  at  a 
tavern  on  Illinois  street.  Late  in  the  night  they 
were  to  separate,  Mrs.  Tracy  taking  the  first  train 
for  Baltimore.  So  aunt  Corinne  and  Robert,  before 
going  to  bed,  bade  good-by  to  the  child  who  had 
scarcely  been  a  playmate  to  them,  but  more  like  a 
delicate  plaything  in  whose  helplessness  they  had  felt 
such  interest. 

Rose,  obeying  her  mamma,  put  her  arms  around 
their  necks  and  kissed  them,  telling  them  to  come 
and  see  her  at  home.  She  looked  brighter  than 
hitherto,  and  remembered  a  dollhouse  and  her  birds 
at  mamma's  house ;  yet  her  long  course  of  opiates 
left  her  little  recognition  of  the  boy  and  girl  she  had 
so  dimly  seen. 

Her  mamma  hugged  them  warmly,  and  Bobaday 
endured  his  share  of  the  hugging  with  a  very  good 


FORWARD. 


263 


grace,  though  he  was  so  old.  Then  it  seemed  but  a 
breath  until  morning,  and  but  another  breath  until 
they  were  under  way,  the  wagon  creaking  along  tlie 
dewy  'pike  ahead  of  them,  an  opal  clearness  growing 
through  the  morning  twilight,  and  no  Fairy  Carrie 
asleep,  like  some  tiny  enchanted  princess,  on  the 
back  seat. 

"The  rest  of  the  way,"  observed  Robert  Day  to 
his  aunt,  "there  won't  be  anything  happening  —  you 
see  if  there  will.  Zene  says  we're  half  across  the 
State  now.  And  I  know  we'll  never  see  J.  D. 
Matthews  again.  And  nobody  will  be  lost  and 
have  to  be  found,  and  there's  no  tellin'  where  that 
great  big  crowd  Jonathan  and  his  folks  moved  with, 
are." 

"  I  feel  lonesome,"  observed  aunt  Corinne  some- 
what pensively.  "  When  Mrs.  Tracy  was  sending 
back  word  to  the  Quaker  tavern  man,  I  wished  we's 
going  back  to  stay  awhile  longer.  Some  places  are 
so  nice ! " 

"  Now  it's  a  pretty  thing  for  you  to  begin  at  your 
time  of  life,"  said  Grandma  Padgett,  "to  set  your 
faces  backward  and  wish  for  what's  behind.  That's 
a  silly  notion.  Folks  that  encourage  themselves  in 
doin'  it  don't  show  sound  sense.  The  One  that 
made  us  knew  better  than  to  let  us  stand  still  in  our 


;i 


264 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


experience,  and  I've  always  found  them  that  go  for- 
ward cheerfully  will  pretty  generally  keep  the  land  of 
Beulah  right  around  them.     Git  up,  Hickory  !  " 

Thus  admonished,  the  children  entered  the  lone 
bridge  over  White  River,  or  that  branch  of  White 
River  on  which  Indianapolis  is  situated.  The  stream, 
seen  between  chinks  in  the  floor,  appeared  deep,  but 
not  particularly  limpid.  How  the  horses'  feet  thun- 
dered on  the  boards,  and  how  long  they  trod  before 
the  little  star  at  the  other  end  gi>  to  an  opening 
quite  large  enough  to  let  any  vehicle  out  of  the 
bridge ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


THE    TOLL-WOMAN. 


fl 


STILL,  as  crossing  the  Sciota  at  Columbus,  had 
been  entering  a  land  of  adventure,  crossing  the 
White  River  at  Indianapolis,  seemed  at  first  entering 
a  land  of  commonplace. 

The  children  were  very  tired  of  the  wagon,  FAen 
aunt  Corinne  got  permission  to  ride  stretches  of  the 
road  with  Robert  Day  and  Zene  in  the  wagon.  It 
gave  out  a  different  creak  and  jolted  her  until  she 
was  grateful  for  springs  and  cushions  when  obliged  to 
go  back  to  them.  The  landscape  was  still  hazy,  the 
woods  grew  more  beautiful.  But  neither  of  the  chil- 
dren cared  for  the  little  towns  along  the  route  :  Bell- 
ville,  Stilesville,  Meridian,  Manhattan,  Pleasant  Gar- 
den. Hills  appeared  and  ledges  of  rock  cropped  out 
in  them.  Yet  even  hills  may  be  observed  with  in- 
difference by  eyes  weary  of  an  endless  panorama. 

They  drove  more  rapidly  now  to  make  up  for  lost 
time.     Both  children  dived  into  the  carriage  pockets 


"66 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


for  amusement,  and  aunt  Corinne  dressed  her  rag 
doll  a  number  of  times  each  day.  They  talked  of 
Rose  Tracy,  still  calling  her  Fairy  Carrie.  Of  the 
wonderful  clothes  her  mother  laid  out  to  put  upon  her 
the  night  of  her  departure,  in  place  of  aunt  Corinne's 
over-grown  things,  and  the  show  woman's  tawdry 
additions.  They  wondered  about  her  home  and  the 
colored  people  who  waited  on  her,  and  if  she  would 
be  quite  well  and  cured  of  her  stupor  by  the  time  she 
reached  Baltimore.  Grandma  Padgett  told  them 
Baltimore  was  an  old  city  down  in  Maryland,  and 
the  National  'Pike  started  in  its  main  street.  From 
Baltimore  over  the  mountains  to  Wheeling,  in  the  Pan 
Handle  of  Virginia,  was  a  grand  route.  There  used 
to  be  a  great  deal  of  wagoning  and  stage-coaching,  and 
driving  droves  of  horses  and  cattle  by  that  road. 
Perhaps,  suggested  aunt  Corinne,  Fairy  Carrie  would 
watch  the  'pike  for  the  Padgett  family,  but  Bobaday 
ridiculed  the  idea.  When  he  grew  up  a  man  he 
meant  to  go  to  Baltimore,  but  the  railroad  would  be 
his  choice  of  routes. 

Both  Robert  and  his  aunt  were  glad  the  day  they 
stopped  for  dinner  near  a  toll-house,  and  the  woman 
came  and  invited  them  to  dine  with  her. 

The  house  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  'pike,  with  its 
gate-pole  ready  to  be  lowered  by   a  rope,    looking 


THE   TOLL-WOMAN. 


267 


like  any  other  toll  place.  But  the  woman  was  very 
brisk  and  Yankee-like,  and  different  from  the  niany 
slatternly  persons  who  had  before  taken  toll.  She  said 
her  people  came  from  "down  East,"  but  she  herself 
was  born  in  Ohio.  She  thought  the  old  lady  would 
like  a  cup  of  strong  tea,  and  her  dinner  was  just 
ready,  and  it  did  get  lonesome  eating  by  a  body's  self 
day  after  day. 

The  Padgetts  added  their  store  to  the  square  table 
set  in  a  back  room,  and  the  toll-woman  poured  her 
steaming  tea  into  cups  covered  with  flower  sprigs. 
Everything  about  her  was  neat  and  compact  as  a 
ship's  cabin.  Her  bed  stood  in  one  corner,  curtained 
with  white  dimity.  There  were  two  rooms  to  the 
toll-house,  the  front  one  being  a  kind  of  shop  con- 
taining a  counter,  candy  jars  set  in  the  windows, 
shoestrings  and  boxes  of  thread  on  "shelves,  and  a 
codfish  or  two  sprawled  upon  nails  and  covered  with 
netting.  From  the  backdoor  you  could  descend  into 
a  garden,  and  at  the  end  of  the  garden  was  a  pig-sty 
occupied  by  a  white  pig  almost  as  tidy  and  precise 
as  his  owner.  In  the  toll-woman's  living  room  there 
was  a  cupboard  fringed  with  tissue  paper,  a  rocking- 
chair  cushioned  in  red  calico,  curtains  to  match,  a 
cooking-stove  so  small  it  seemed  made  for  a  play- 
thing, and  yellow  chairs  having  gold-leaf  ornaments 


aTii 


268 


OLD  CARAVAN   DAYS. 


on  their  backs.  She  herself  was  a  straight,  flat 
woman,  looking  much  broader  in  a  front  or  back  view 
than  when  she  stood  sidewise  toward  you.  Her 
face  v/as  very  good-natured.  Altogether  she  seemed 
just  the  ready  and  capable  wife  for  whom  the  man 
went  to  London  after  the  rats  and  the  mice  led  him 
such  a  life.  Though  in  her  case  it  is  probable  the 
wheelbarrow  would  not  have  broken,  nor  would  any 
other  mishap  have  marred  the  journey. 

"You  don't  live  here  by  yourself,  do  you?"  in- 
quired Grandma  Padgett  as  the  tea  and  *.he  meal  in 
common  warmed  an  acquaintance  which  the  fact  of 
their  being  from  one  State  had  readily  begun. 

"  Since  father  died  I  have,"  replied  the  toll- 
woman.  '•  Father  moved  in  here  when  about  every- 
thing else  failed  him,  and  he'd  lost  ambition,  and 
laws  !  now  I  anrused  to  it.  I  might  gone  back  to  Ohio, 
but  when  you  fit  me  into  a  place  I  never  want  to 
pull  up  out  of  it." 

"  And  don't  you  ever  get  afraid,  nights  or  any  time, 
without  men  folks  about  ?  " 

"  Before  i  got  used  to  being  alone,  I  did.  And 
there's  reason  yet  every  little  while;  But  I  only  got 
one  bad  scare." 

A  wagon  paused  at  the  front  door,  so  near  the 
horses   might   have   put    their  heads    in    and  snifTed 


THE    rOLL-WOMAN. 


269 


up  the  merchandise,  and  the  woman  went  to  take  toll, 
before  telling  about  her  bad  scare. 

"How  do  you  manage  in  the  nights?"  inquired 
her  guest. 

"That's  bad  about  fai  times,  when  the  wild  young 
men  get  to  racin'  late  along.  The  pole's  been  cut 
when  I  tied  it  down,  and  sometimes  they've  tried 
to  jump  it.  But  generally  the  travellers  are  peace- 
able enough.  I've  got  a  box  in  the  front  door  like  a 
letter-box,  with  a  slit  outside  for  them  to  drop  change 
into,  and  the  pole-rope  pulls  down  through  the  win- 
dow-frame. There  ain't  so  much  travel  by  night  as 
there  used  to  be,  and  a  body  learns  to  be  wakeful 
anyhow  if  they've  ever  had  the  care  of  sick  old  peo- 
ple." 

"You  didn't  say  how  you  got  scared,"  remarked 
aunt  Corinne,  sitting  straight  in  one  of  the  yellow 
chairs  to  impress  upon  her  mind  the  image  of  this 
heroine  of  the  road. 

"  Well,  it  was  robbers,"  confessed  the  toll-woman, 
"breakin'  into  the  house,  that  scared  me." 

Robbers!  Aunt  Corinne's  nephew  mentally  saw  a 
cavern  in  one  of  the  neighboring  hills,  and  men  in 
scarlet  cloaks  and  feathers  lurking  among  the  bushes. 
If  there  is  any  word  sweeter  to  the  young  male  ear 
than  Indian  or  Tagger,  it  is  robbers. 


270 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  Are  there  many  robbers  around  here  ? "  he  m- 
quired,  fixing  intent  eyes  on  the  toll-woman. 

"There  used  to  be  plenty  of  horse-thieves,  and  is 
yet,"  she  replied.  "  They've  come  huntin'  them  from 
away  over  in  Illinois.  I  remember  that  year  the 
milk-sick  was  so  bad  there  was  more  horse-thieves 
than  we've  ever  heard  of  since." 

"  But  they  ain't  true  robbe\s,  aie  they  ?  "  said  aunt 
Corinne's  nephew  in  some  disgust,  his  scarlet  bandits 
paling. 

"  Not  the  kind  that  come  tryin'  the  house  when  I 
got  scared,"  admitted  the  toll-woman. 

"And  did  they  get  in?  "  exclaimed  Robert  Day's 
aunt- 

"  I  don't  like  to  think  about  it  yet,"  remarked  the 
toll-woman,  cooling  her  tea  and  intent  on  enjoying  her 
own  story.  "  'Twasn't  so  very  long  ago,  either.  First 
comes  word  from  this  direction  that  a  toll-gate  keeper 
and  his  wife  was  tied  and  robbed  at  the  dead  o'  night. 
And  then  comes  word  from  the  other  dilution  of  an 
old  man  bein'  knocked  on  the  head  when  he  opened 
his  door.  It  wouldn't  seem  toyouthere'd  be  enough 
■  money  at  a  toll-gate  to  make  it  an  object,"  said  the 
woman,  looking  at  Zene's  cross  eyes  with  unconcealed 
disfavor.  "  But  folks  of  that  kind  don't  want  much 
of  an  object." 


THE   TOLL-WOMAN. 


271 


"  They  love  to  rob,"  suggested  Bobaday,  enjoying 
himself. 

"  They're  a  desp'rate,  evil  set,"  said  the  toll-woman 
sternly.  "  Wliy,  I  could  tell  things  that  would  make 
your  hair  all  stand  on  end,  about  robberies  I've 
known," 

Aunt  Corinne  felt  a  warning  stir  in  her  scnlp-lock. 
But  her  nephew  began  to  desire  permanent  encamp- 
ment in  the  neighborhood  of  this  toll-gate.  Robber- 
stories  which  his  grandmother  not  only  allowed  re- 
cited, but  drank  in  with  her  tea,  were  luxuries  of  the 
road  not  to  be  left  behind. 

"  Tell  some  of  them,"  he  urged. 

"  I'll  tell  you  about  their  comin'  herc^'  said  the  toll- 
woman.  "  'Twas  soon  after  father's  death.  Thev 
must  known  there  was  a  lone  woman  here,  and  calcu- 
lated on  findin'  it  an  easy  job.  He'd  kept  me  awake 
a  good  deal,  for  father  suffered  constant  in  his  last 
sickness,  and  though  I  was  done  out,  I  still  had  the 
habit  of  wakin'  regular  at  his  medicine-hours.  The 
time  was  along  in  the  fall,  and  there  was  a  high  wind 
that  night.  P'air  time,  too,  so  there  was  more  travel 
on  the  'pike  of  people  comin'  and  goin'  to  the  Fair 
and  from  it,  in  one  day,  than  in  a  whole  week  ordinary 
times. 

"  I  opened  my  eyes  just  as  the  clock  struck  two, 


\\ 


272 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


I 


and  seemed  like  I  heard  something  at  the  front  door. 
I  listened  ar.d  listened.     It  wasn't  the  wind  siiigin" 


THE    TOLL-WOMAN. 


along  the  telegraph  wires  as  it  does  when  there's  ? 
strong  draught  east  and  west.     And  it  wasn't  an;  bor*;' 


'IC'        fM'\y,i^'i 


THE    TOLL-WOMAN. 


273 


ity)fi*  to  wake  me  up.  Some  of  our  farmers  that 
buys  stock  and  has  to  be  out  early  and  late  in  a  dro- 
viete  way,  often  tells  me  beforehand  what  time  o' 
night  they'll  be  likely  to  come  by,  and  I  set  the  pole 
so  it'll  be  easy  for  them  that  knows  how  to  tip  up. 
Then  they  put  their  money  in  the  box,  and  tip  the 
pole  back  after  they  drive  through,  to  save  wakin'me, 
for  the  neighbors  are  real  accommodatin',  and  they 
knew  father  took  a  heap  of  care.  But  the  noise  I 
heard  wasn't  anybody  droppin'  coppers  in  the  box, 
nor  raisin'  or  lowerin'  the  pole.  The  rope  rasps 
against  the  hole  when  the  gate  goes  up  or  down.  It 
was  just  like  a  lock  was  bein'  picked,  or  a  rattly  old 
window  bein'  slid  up  by  inches. 

"  I  mistrusted  right  away.  It  wouldn't  do  any  good 
for  me  to  holler.  The  nearest  neighbor  was  two 
miles  oflF.  I  hadn't  any  gun,  and  never  shot  off  a  gun 
in  my  life.  I  would  hate  to  hurt  a  human  bein'  that 
way.  Still,  I  was  excited,  and  afraid  of  gettin'  killed 
myself ;  so  if  I'd  /lad  a  gun  I  m/g/it  have  shot  it  off, 
for  by  the  tune  I  got  my  dress  and  stockin's  on,  that 
window  was  up,  and  somelhin'  was  in  that  front  room. 
I  could  hear  him  step,  still  as  a  cat. 

"  I  thought  about  the  toll-money.  Everybody  knew 
the  box's  inside  the  door,  so  I  was  far  from  leavin'  it 
there  till  the  collector  came.     I  always  took  the  money 


;"i 


m 


274 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


out  and  tied  it  in  a  canvas  sack  and  hid  it.     A  body 
would  never  tliink  of  lookin'  vviiere  I  hid  that  money." 

"Where  did  you  hide  it  .-^ "  inquired  aunt  Corinne. 

The  toll-woman  rose  up  and  went  to  collect  from  a 
carriage  at  the  door.  The  merry  face  of  a  girl  in  the 
carriage  peeped  through  the  house,  and  some  pleasant 
jokes  were  exchanged. 

"That's  the  daughter  of  the  biggest  stock  man 
around  here,"  said  the  toll-woman,  returning,  and  pass- 
ing over  aunt  Corinne's  question.  "  She  goes  to 
college,  but  it  don't  make  a  simpleton  of  her.  She 
always  has  a  smile  and  a  pleisant  word.  Her  foiki 
are  real  good  friehos  of  mine.  They  knew  our  folki 
in  Ohio." 

"  And  did  he  come  right  in  and  grab  you  ?  "  urged 
Bobaday,  keeping  to  the  main  narrative 

"  I  was  that  scared  for  a  minute,"  resumed  the  toll- 
woman,  "  that  I  hadn't  any  strength.  The  middle 
door  never  is  locke^i.  I  leave  it  on  the  latch  like,  so 
I  can  hear  «neels  better.  What  to  do  I  didn't  know, 
but  a  body  thinks  fast  at  such  times.  First  thing  I 
knew  I  was  on  the  back  doorstep,  hookin'  the  dooi  on 
the  outside.  Then  a  gust  of  wind  like,  came  around 
the  conaer  of  the  house,  and  voices  came  with  it,  and 
1  felt  sure  there  were  more  men  waitin'  there  to  ketch 
me,  if  I  tried  to  run." 


1 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


J 


ROBBERS. 

IT  was  a  light  night,  but  the  new  moon  looked  jost 
like  it  was  blowed  through  the  sky  by  the  high 
wind.  I  noticed  that,  because  I  remembered  it 
afterwards. 

"  Now  I  was  outside,  I  didn't  know  which  way  to 
turn.  If  I  run  to  either  side,  there  were  the  men,  and 
if  I  took  toward  the  pig-pen  they'd  see  me.  And 
the\  c  be  comin'  around  and  'd  luitch  me  where  I 
was. 

•  What  did  you  do  ?  "  exclaimed  aunt  Corinne,  pre- 
ser\  ng  a  rigid  attitude. 

Tlie  t^ll-woman  laughed  cheerruUy  as  she  poured 
out  more  tea  for  herself.  Grandma  Padgett  having 
waved  back  the  teapot  spout. 

"  I  took  the  only  chance  I  saw  and  jumped  for  that 
there  cave." 

Both  Robert  and  his  aunt  arose  from  their  chairs 
to  look  out  of  the  back  door. 

The  cave  was  a  structure  which  1  believe  is  peculiar 

275 


! 


II 


276 


OLD  CARAVAN   DAYS. 


to  the  West,  being  in  reality  a  kind  of  dug-out.  It 
flourished  before  people  built  substantial  houses  with 
cellars  under  them,  and  held  the  same  relation  to  the 
family's  summer  economy  as  the  potato,  apple,  and 
turnip  holes  did  to  its  winter  comfort.  Milk,  butter, 
perishable  fruit,  lard,  meats,  and  even  preserves  were 
kept  in  the  cave.  It  was  intended  for  summer  cool- 
ness and  winter  warmth.  To  make  a  cave,  you  lifted 
the  sod  and  dug  out  a  foot  of  earth.  The  bottom 
wfts  covered  with  straw.  Over  this  you  made  boards 
meet  and  brace  each  other  with  the  slope  of  the  roof. 
The  ends  were  boarded  up,  leaving  room  for  a  door, 
and  the  whole  outside  sodded  thickly,  so  that  a  cave 
looked  like  a  sharp-printed  bulge  in  the  sward,  ex- 
cepting at  that  end  where  the  heavy  padlocked  door 
closed  it.  It  was  a  temptation  to  bad  boys  and  active 
girls  ;  they  always  wanted  to  run  over  it  and  hear  the 
hollow  sound  of  the  boards  under  their  feet,  I  once 
saw  a  cave  break  through  and  swallow  one  out  of  such 
a  galloping  troup,  to  his  great  dismay,  for  he  was 
running  over  an  imaginary  volcano,  and  when  he  sat 
down  to  his  shoulders  in  an  apple-butter  jar,  the  hot 
lava  seemed  ready  made  to  his  hand. 

From  the  toll-woman's  cave-roof,  spikes  of  yellow 
mustard  were  shooting  up  into  the  air.  The  door 
looked  as  stout  as  the  opening  to  a  bank  vault,  though 


ROBBERS. 


277 


this  comparison  did  not  occur  to  the  children,  and 
was  secure  with  staple  and  padlock  and  three  huge 
hinges.  Evidently,  no  mischievous  feet  had  cantered 
over  the  ridge  of  this  cave. 

It  stood  a  few  yards  from  the  back  door. 

"  I  had  the  key  in  my  pocket,"  said  the  toll  woman, 
"  and  ever  since  then  I've  never  carried  it  anywhere 
else.  I  clapped  it  into  the  padlock  and  turned,  but 
just  as  I  pulled  the  door  I  heard  feet  comin'  around 
the  house  full  drive.  Instead  of  jumpin'  into  the  cave 
I  jumped  behind  it.  I  thought  they  had  me,  but  I 
wasn't  goin'  to  be  crunched  to  death  in  a  hole,  like  a 
mouse.  My  stocking-feet  slipped,  and  I  came  down 
flat,  but  right  where  the  shadow  of  the  house  and  the 
shadow  of  the  cave  fell  all  over  me.  If  I  hadn't 
slipped  I'd  been  runnin'  across  that  field,  and  they'd 
seen  me  sure.  Folks  around  here  made  a  good  deal 
of  fuss  over  the  way  things  turned  out,  but  I  don't 
take  any  more  credit  than's  my  due,  so  I  say  it  just 
happened  that  I  didn't  try  to  run  further. 

"  The  two  men  outside  unlocked  the  back  door  and 
the  one  inside  came  on  to  the  step. 

"  'There's  nothin'  in  the  box  and  nobody  in  here,' 
says  he.  *  She's  jumped  out  o'  bed  and  run  and 
carried  the  cash  with  her.' 

"'Did  you  look  under  the  bed?'  says  one. of  the 


;'5 

I 

I 


78 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


|:U 


outsiders.  And  he  ran  and  looked  himself  ;  anyway, 
he  went  in  the  house  and  came  out  again.  I  was 
glad  I  hadn't  got  under  the  bed. 

"  *  This  job  has  to  be  done  quick,'  says  the  first  one. 
'And  the  best  way  is  to  ketch  the  woman  and  make 
her  give  up  or  tell  where  the  stuff  is  hid.  She  ain't 
got  far,  because  I  heard  her  open  this  door.' 

"  Then  they  must  have  seen  the  cave  door  stannin' 
open.  I  heard  them  say  something  about  *  cave,' 
and  come  run n in'  up. 

" '  Hold  on,'  says  one,  and  he  fires  a  pistol-shot 
right  into  the  cave.  I  was  down  with  my  mouth  to 
the  ground,  flat  as  I  could  lay,  but  the  sound  of  a  gun 
always  made  me  holler  out,  and  holler  I  did  as  the 
ball  seemed  to  come  thud  !  right  at  me  ;  but  it  stuck 
in  the  back  of  the  cave. 

"  '  All  right.  Here  she  is  ! '  says  the  foremost  man, 
and  in  they  all  went.  I  heard  them  stumble  as  they 
stepped  down,  and  one  began  to  blame  the  others 
for  crowdin'  after  him  when  they  ought  to  stopped  at 
the  mouth  to  ketch  me  if  I  slipped  through  his 
fingers. 

"  I  don't  know  to  this  hour  how  I  did  it,"  exclaimed 
the  toll-woman,  fanning  herself,  "  nor  when  I  thought 
of  it.  But  the  first  thing  I  felt  sure  of  I  had  that 
door  slammed  to,  and  the  key  turned  in  the  padlock, 


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ROBBERS. 


281 


and  them  three  robbers  was  ketched  like  mice  in  1 
trap,  instead  of  it's  bein'  me  !  " 

Robert  Day  gave  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction,  but 
aunt  Corinne  braced  herself  against  the  door-frame 
and  gazed  upon  the  magic  cave  with  still  wider 
eyes. 

"  Did  they  yell  ? "  inquired  Bobaday. 

"  It  ain't  fit  to  tell,"  resumed  the  toll-woman,  "  what 
awful  language  them  men  used  ;  and  they  kicked  the 
door  and  the  ')oards  until  I  thought  break  through 
they  would  if  ih^y  had  to  heave  the  whole  weight  of 
dirt  and  sod  out  of  the  top.  Then  I  heard  some- 
body comin'  along  the  'pike,  and  for  a  minute  I  felt 
real  discouraged  ;  for,  thinks  I,  if  there's  more  en- 
gaged to  help  them,  what's  a  poor  body  to  do  ? 

"But  'twas  a  couple  of  srock-men,  riding  home, 
and  they  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  I  run  through  the 
open  house  to  tell  my  story,  and  it  didn't  take  long 
for  them  with  pistols  in  their  pockets  and  big  black 
whips  loaded  with  lead  in  the  handles,  to  get  the 
fellows  out  and  tie  'em  up  firm.  I  hunted  all  the 
new  rope  in  the  house,  and  they  took  the  firearms 
away  from  the  robbers,  and  drove  'em  off  to  jail,  and 
the  robbers  turned  out  to  be  three  of  the  most  des- 
p'rate  characters  in  the  State,  and  they're  in  prison 
now  for  a  long  term  of  years." 


■  I 


;n 


fti: 


282 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"  What  did  you  do  the  rest  of  the  night  ?"  -iiquired 
Grandma  Padgett. 

"  O,  I  locked  everything  tight  again,  and  laid  down 
till  daylight,"  replied  the  toll-woman,  with  some- 
what boastful  indifference.  "  Folks  haven't  got  done 
talkin'  yet  about  that  little  jail  in  my  oack  yard,"  she 
added,  laughing.  "  They  came  from  miles  around  to 
look  into  it  and  see  where  the  men  pretty  nigh  kicked 
the  boards  loose." 

This  narrative  was  turned  over  and  over  by  the 
children  after  they  resumed  theii*  journey,  and  the 
toll-woman  and  her  cave  had  faded  out  in  distance. 
If  they  saw  a  deserted  cabin  among  the  hollows  of 
the  woods,  it  became  the  meeting  place  of  robbers. 
Now  that  aunt  Corinne's  nephew  turned  his  mind  to 
the  subject,  he  begat:  to  thiiik  the  whole  expedi- 
tion out  West  would  be  a  failure  —  an  experience  not 
worth  alluding  to  in  future  times — unless  the  family 
were  well  robbed  on  the  way.  Jonathan  and  Thrusty 
Ellen,  in  the  f.reat  overland  colony,  would  have 
Indians  to  shudder  at,  a  desert  and  mountains  to 
cross,  besides  the  tremendous  Mississippi  River. 
Robert  would  hate  to  meet  Jonathan  in  coming  days 
—  and  he  had  a  boy's  faith  that  he  should  be  con- 
stantly repassing  old  acquaintances  in  this  world  — 
and  have  no  peril  to  put  in  the  balance  against  Jona- 


ROBBERS. 


283 


than's  adventures.  Of  course  he  wanted  to  come  out 
on  the  right  side  of  the  peril,  it  does  noi  tell  well 
otherwise. 

But  while  aunt  Corinne's  mind  ran  as  constantly 
Oil  robbers,  they  h-'d  no  charms  for  her.  She  did  not 
want  to  be  robbed,  and  was  giad  her  lines  had  not 
fallen  in  the  lonely  toll-house.  Being  robbed  ap- 
peared to  her  like  the  measles,  mumps,  or  whooping- 
cough  ;  more  interesting  in  a  neighboring  family  than 
in  your  own.  She  would  avoid  it  if  possible,  yet  the 
conviction  grew  upon  her  that  it  was  not  to  be  es- 
caped. The  strange  passers-by  who  once  pleasantly 
varied  the  road,  now  became  objects  of  dread. 
Though  Zene  got  past  them  in  safety,  and  though 
they  gave  the  carriage  a  wide  road,  aunt  Corinne 
never  failed  to  turn  and  watch  them  to  a  safe  dis- 
tance, lest  they  should  make  a  treacherous  charge  in 
the  rear. 

Had  they  been  riding  through  some  dismal  swamp, 
the  landscape's  influence  would  have  accounted  for  all 
these  terrors.  But  it  was  the  pretty  region  of  Western 
Indiana,  containing  hills  and  bird-songs  enough  to 
swallow  up  a  thousand  stories  of  toll-gate  robberies 
in  happy  sight  and  sound. 

Grandma  Padgett,  indeed,  soon  put  her  ban  upon 
the   subject   of   caves   and  night-attacks.      But   she 


^-     ^, 


284 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAVS. 


could  not  prevent  the  children  thinking.  Nor  was 
she  able  to  drive  the  carriage  and  at  the  same  time  sit 
in  the  wagon  when  they  rode  with  Zene  and  stop  the 
flow  of  recollection  to  which  they  stimulated  him. 
While  sward,  sky,  and  trees  became  violet-tinted  to 
her  through  her  glasses,  and  she  calmly  meditated  and 
chewed  a  bit  of  calamus  or  a  fennel  seed,  Bobaday 
and  aunt  Corinne  huddled  at  the  wagon's  mouth, 
and  Zene  indulgently  harrowed  up  their  souls  with 
what  he  heard  from  a  gentleman  who  had  been  in 
the  Mexican  war. 

*'  The  very  gentleman  used  to  visit  at  your  grand- 
marm's  house,"  said  Zene  to  Robert,  "  and  yo^r  marm 
always  said  he  was  much  of  a  gentleman,''  added  Zene 
to  aunt  Corinne.  "Down  in  the  Mexican  country 
when  they  didn't  fight  they  stayed  in  camp,  and  some- 
times they'd  go  out  and  iumt.  Man  that'd  been 
huntin',  come  runnin'  in  one  day  scared  nigh  to  death. 
He  said  he'd  seen  the  old  Bad  Man.  So  this  gentle- 
man and  some  more  of  the  fine  officers,  they  went  to 
take  a  look  for  themselves.  They  hunted  around  a 
good  spell.  Most  of  them  gave  it  up  and  went  back  : 
all  but  four.     The  four  got  right  up  to  him." 

"  O  don't,  Zene  !  "  begged  aunt  Corinne,  feeling 
that  she  could  not  bear  the  description. 

But  to  Robert  Day's   mind  arose  the  picture   of 


zene's  wild  man. 


ROBBERS. 


287 


Apollyon,  in  Pilgrim'' s  Progress,  and  he  uttered  some- 
thing like  a  snort  of  enjoyment,  saying  : 

"Go  on,  Zene." 

"  I  guess  it  was  a  crazy  darkey  or  Mexican,"  Zene 
was  careful  to  explain.  "  He  was  covered  with  ox- 
hide all  over,  so  he  looked  red  and  white  hairy,  and 
the  horns  and  ears  were  on  his  head.  He  had  a  long 
knife,  and  cut  weeds  and  bark,  and  muttered  and 
chuckled  to  himself.  He  was  ugly,"  acknowledged 
Zene.  "  The  gentleman  said  he  never  saw  anything 
better  calkilated  to  look  scary,  and  the  four  men  fol- 
lowed him  to  his  den.  They  wouldn't  shoot  him,  but 
they  wanted  to  see  what  he  was,  and  he  never  mis- 
trusted. After  a  long  round-about,  they  watched  him 
crawl  on  all-fours  into  a  hole  in  a  hill,  and  round  the 
mouth  of  the  hole  he'd  built  up  a  tunnel  of  bones. 
Tne  bones  smelt  awful,"  said  Zene.  "  And  he  crawled 
in  with  his  weeds  and  bark  in  his  hand,  and  they  didn't 
see  any  more  of  him.  That's  a  true  story,"  vouched 
Zene,  snapping  his  whip-lash  at  Johnson,  "  but  your 
grandmarm  wouldn't  like  for  me  to  tell  it  to  you. 
Such  things  ain't  fit  for  children  to  hear." 

Robert  Day  felt  glad  that  Zene's  qualms  of  repent- 
ance always  came  after  the  offence  instead  of  before, 
and  in  time  to  prevent  the  forbidden  tale. 

Yet,  having  made  such  arden"^  preparation  for  rot)- 


288 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


1  i;> 


bers,  and  tuned  their  minds  to  the  subject  by  every 
possible  influence,  the  children  found  they  were  ap- 
proaching the  last  large  town  on  the  journey  without 
encountering  any. 

This  was  Terre  Haute.  One  farmer  on  the  road, 
being  asked  the  distance,  said,  it  was  so  many  miles 
to  Tarry  Hoot.  Another,  a  little  later  met,  pronounced 
the  place  Turry  Hut ;  and  a  very  trim,  smooth-look- 
ing man  whom  Zene  classed  as  a  banker  or  judge, 
called  it  Tare  Hote.  So  the  inhabitants  and  neigh- 
bors of  Terra  Haute  were  not  at  all  unanimous  In  the 
sound  they  gave  her  French  name  ;  nor  are  they  so 
to  this  day. 


1    i 


■■1^v.. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    KAIR    AND    THE    FIERCE    BANDIT. 

Tie  tavern  shone  resplendent  with  lights       wk 

G-dn,aPacteett.spar„we„tb,theo      edol: 
the  d,n,„g-room,  to  ascend  the  stairs  th!      , 

into  .hat  appeared  a  bower  or     C  ', ^/^  ^T^" 
s'Khts.    The,hadsnpperinate.pra         rr' 

--sewin.soeiet-;,:::--^;;^ 

Now  Robert  Day  anr?  r-    • 
agricultural  display       Th   ",'"7  '"^"  ""  ^^-'  - 
Fair  at  Columbus  ,  H       '  ''^'"  "'   '"^   «'="- 

'ines  of  booth!  ",        ''"  ""'''^  ^'''"*"^'  '"  '""^ 
^-d,  an  ;;tl^"^  "J"-  -'^  ^^'ckens,  pies 

c-vdsofpeZ    ;    '"'     T'"'''^'^"''^'-^ 
people.     Theyconsidered  it  the  finest  sight 


'     i 


290 


OLD    CARAVAN    DAYS. 


in  the  world,  except,  perhaps,  a  fabulous  crystal  pal- 
ace which  was  or  had  been  somewhere  a  great  ways 
off,  and  which  everybody  talked  about  a  great  deal, 
and  some  folks  had  pictured  on  their  window  blinds. 
But  a  fair  got  up  by  a  ladies'  sewing-society  to  raise 
money  for  the  poor,  was  so  entirely  new  and  tantalizing 
to  them  that  they  begged  their  guardian  to  take  them 
in. 

Grandma  Padgett  said  she  had  no  money  to  spare 
for  foolishness,  and  her  expenses  duringthe  trip  footed 
up  to  a  high  figure.  Neither  could  she  undertake  to 
have  the  trunks  in  from  the  wagon  and  get  out  their 
Sunday  clothes.  But  in  the  end,  as  both  children 
were  neatly  dressed,  and  the  fair  was  to  help  the  poor, 
she  gave  them  a  five-cent  piece  each,  over  and  above 
admission  money,  which  was  a  fip'ney-bit,  for  children, 
the  waiter  said.  Zene  concluded  he  would  black  his 
boots  and  look  into  the  fair  awhile  also,  and  as  he 
could  keep  a  protecting  eye  on  her  young  family,  and 
had  authority  to  send  them  up-stairs  in  one  hour  and 
a  half  by  the  bar-room  time.  Grandma  Padgett  went 
to  bed.  She  was  glad  the  journey  was  so  nearly  over, 
for  every  night  found  her  quite  tired  out. 

Zene,  magnifying  his  own  importance  and  author- 
ity, ushered  aunt  Corinne  and  Robert  into  the  fair, 
and  limped  after    them  whenever   he   thought   they 


,Hi_ 


.^^ 


mssB 


^ 


THE    FAIk    AND    THE     FIERCE    UANDIT, 


291 


needed  admonition  or  advice.  The  landlord's  pert 
young  son  noticed  this  and  made  his  intimates  laugh 
at  it.  Besides,  he  was  gorgeously  attired  in  blue 
velvet  jacket  and  ruffles  and  white  trousers,  and 
among  the  crowds  of  grown  people  coming  and  going, 
other  children  shone  in  resplendent  attire.  Aunt 
Corinne  felt  the  commonness  of  her  calico  dress. 
She  had  a  "  white  "  herself,  if  Ma  Padgett  had  only 
let  her  put  it  on,  but  this  could  not  be  explained  to 
all  the  people  at  the  fair.  And  there  were  so  many 
things  to  look  at,  she  soon  forgot  the  white.  Dolls 
of  pink  and  pearly  wax,  with  actual  hair,  candy  or 
wooden  dogs,  cats,  and  all  domestic  animals,  tables 
of  cakes,  and  lines  of  m;ide-up  clothing  which  repre- 
sented the  sewing  society's  labors.  There  was  too 
much  crowding  for  comfort,  and  too  mucii  pastry 
trodden  into  the  floor;  and  aunt  Corinne  and  her 
nephew  felt  keen  anxiety  to  spend  their  five-cent 
pieces  to  the  best  advantage.  She  was  near  investing 
in  candy  kisses,  when  yellow  and  scarlet-backed  books 
containing  the  history  of  "Mother  Hubbard,"  or  the 
"  Babes  in  the  Woods,"  or  "  Little  Red  Riding 
Hood,"  attracted  her  eye,  and  she  realized  what 
life-long  regret  she  must  have  suffered  for  spending 
five  cents  on  candy  kisses,  when  one  such  volume 
might  be  hers  for  the  same  money.  1 


■iOi 


292 


OLt)   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


Just  as  aunt  Corinne  laid  her  silver  on  the  book 
counter,  however,  and  gave  her  trembling  preference 
to  the  "  History  of  Old  Dame  Trot  and  her  Cat," 
Bobaday  seized  her  wrist  and  excitedly  told  her  there 
was  a  magic-lantern  show  connected  with  the  fair, 
which  could  be  seer  at  five  cents  per  pair  of  eyes. 
Dame  Trot  remained  unpurchased,  and  the  coin  re- 
turned to  aunt  Corinne's  warm  palm.  But  she  in- 
quired with  caution, 

"  What's  a  magic-lantern  show  ?  " 

'■  Why,  the  man,  you  know,"  explained  Robert, 
'*  has  pitctures  in  a  lantern,  and  throws  light  through 
'em.  and  they  spread  out  on  a  wet  sheet  on  the  wall. 
The  room's  all  dark  except  tlie  place  on  the  wall,  A 
Chinese  man  eatin'  mice  in  his  sleep  ;  he  works  liis 
jaws  !  And  about  Saul  in  the  Bible,  when  he  was 
goin  to  kill  the  good  people,  and  it  says,  '  Saul,  Saul, 
why  persecutest  thou  me  ? '  And  when  they  let  him 
down  in  a  basket.  And  there':i  a  big  star  like  grand- 
ma's star  quilt,  only  it  keeps  turning  all  kinds  of 
colors  and  workin'  in  and  out  on  itself.  And  a  good 
many  more.  Zene  went  in.  He  said  he  wanted  to 
see  if  we  ought  to  look  at  it.  And  he'll  stand  by  the 
door  and  pay  our  money  to  the  man  if  we  want  to  go. 
There's  such  a  crowd  to  get  in."     i_     ._ _,:  :• 

Robft  Day's  aunt  caught  the  fire  of  his  enthusiasm 


THE     FAIR    AND    THE     FIERCE     BANDIT. 


293 


and  went  straight  with  him  to  the  door  wherein  the 
magic  lantein  performed.  A  crowd  of  children  were 
pushing  up,  but   Zene,   more   energetic    than    cour- 


AT   THF    SEWING    SOCIETY    1  AIR. 


teous,  pushed  his  charges  ahead  so  that  they  gained 
chairs  before  the  landlord's  son  could  make  his 
choice. 

He   sat   down   directly  behind    Robert  and   aunt 


294 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS, 


Corinne,  and  at  once  began  to  annoy  them  with  im- 
pertinent remarks. 

"  Movers'  young  ones  are  spry,"  said  the  landlord's 
son,  who  had  been  petted  on  account  of  his  pretty 
face  until  !  e  was  the  nuisance  of  the  house.  "  I 
wouldn't  be  a  movers' young  one." 

Robert  felt  a  stinging  throb  in  his  blood,  but  sat 
still,  looking  at  the  wall.  Aunt  Corinne,  however, 
turned  her  head  and  looked  witheringly  at  the  blue- 
jacketed  boy, 

"  Movers'  young  ones  ha>'e  to  wear  calico,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  their  lame  pap  goes  lippity-clink  around 
after  them." 

"He  thinks  Zene's  our  father!"  exclaimed  aunt 
Corinne,  blazing  at  the  affront  she  received. 

"  Don't  mind  him,"  said  Robert,  slowly.  "  He's  the 
hostler's  boy,  and  used  to  staying  in  the  stable.  He 
doesn't  know  how  to  behave  when  they  let  him  into 
the  house." 

This  bitter  skirmishing  might  have  become  an  open 
engagement  at  the  next  exchange  of  fires,  for  the 
landlord's  son  stood  up  in  rage  while  his  chums  gig- 
gled, and  Robert  felt  terribly  equal  to  the  occasion. 
He  told  Zene  next  day  he  had  his  fist  already  doubled, 
and  he  didn't  care  if  the  landlord  put  them  all  in 
jail.     But  just  then  the  magic  light  was  turned  upon 


THE    FAIR     AND    THE    FIERCE    BANDIT. 


^95 


the  wall,  the  landlord's  son  was  told  by  twenty  voices 
to  sit  down  out  of  the  way,  the  lantern  man  himself 
sternly  commanding  it.  So  he  sunk  into  his  seat 
feeling  much  less  important,  and  tiie  wonders  pro- 
ceeded, though  aunt  Corinne  felt  she  should  always 
regret  turning  her  back  on  the  Dame  Trot  book  and 
coming  in  there  to  have  Zene  called  her  lame  pap, 
while  Robert  wondered  gloomily  if  any  stigma  did 
attach  to  movers'  children.  He  had  supposed  them 
a  class  to  be  envied. 

This  grievance  put  the  robbers  out  of  his  mind 
when  they  trotted  ahead  next  day.  The  Wabash 
River  could  scarcely  soothe  his  ruffled  complacence. 
And  never  an  inch  of  the  Wabash  River  have  I  seen 
that  was  not  beautiful  and  restful  to  the  eye.  It 
flows  limpidly  between  varying  banks,  and  has  a  trick 
of  throwing  up  bars  and  islands,  wooded  to  the  very 
edges —  captivating  places  for  any  tiny  Crusoe  to  be 
wrecked  upon.  Skiffs  lay  ilong  the  shore,  and  small 
steamers  felt  their  way  in  the  channel.  It  was  a  river 
full  of  all  sorts  of  promises  ;  .o  shallow  he' e  that  the 
pebbles  shone  in  broad  sheets  like  a  floor  of  Dpals 
wherever  you  might  wade  in  delight,  so  deep  and 
shady  with  sycamore  canopies  there,  that  a  good 
swimmer  would  want  to  lie  in  ambush  like  a  trout, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  swimming  hole,  half  a  June  day. 


ii\\\ 


296 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


Perhaps  it  was  the  sight  of  the  Wabash  River 
which  suggested  washing  clothes  to  Grandma  Padgett. 
She  said  they  were  now  near  the  Illinois  State  line, 
and  she  would  not  like  to  reach  the  place  with  every- 
thing dirty.  There  was  always  plenty  to  do  when  a' 
body  first  got  home,  without  hurrying  up  wash-da}'.  • 

So  when  they  passed  a  small  place  call^,d  Macks- 
ville,  and  came  to  Sugar  Creek,  she  called  a  halt,  and 
they  spent  the  day  in  the  woods.  Sugar  Creek, 
though  not  sweet,  was  clear.  Zene  carried  pails  full 
of  it  to  fill  the  great  copper  kettle,  and  slung  this  over 
a  fire.  TiiC  horses  munched  at  their  feed-box  or 
cropped  grass,  wandering  with  their  heads  tied  to 
their  forefeet  to  prevent  their  cantering  off.  Grand- 
ma Padgett  at  the  creek's  brink,  set  up  her  tubs  and 
buried  herself  to  the  elbows  in  suds,  and  aunt  Cor- 
inne  with  a  matronly  countenance,  assisted.  All  that 
day  P.obert  went  barelegged  and  splashed  water, 
wading  out  far  to  dip  up  a  gourdful  ;  and  he  thought 
it  was  fun  to  help  stretch  the  clothes-line  among  sap- 
lings, and  lift  the  scalded  linen  on  a  paddle  into  the 
tub,  losing  himself  in  the  stream.  Ordinary  wash- 
days as  he  remembered  them,  were  rather  disagree- 
able. Everybody  had  to  wake  early,  and  a  great  deal 
of  fine-split  wood  was  needed.  The  kitchen  smelt  of 
suds,  and  the  sciiool-lunch  was  scraps  left  from  Sun- 


I 


THE    FAIR     AND   THE     FIERCE     BANDIT. 


299 


day  in     ^ad  of  new  cake,  turnovers  and  ginp^erbread. 

But  this  woods  wash-day  was  an  experience  to  de- 
light in,  like  sailing  on  a  log  in  the  water,  and  pre- 
tending you  are  a  bold  navigator,  or  lashing  the  rock- 
ing-chair to  a  sled  for  a  sleighride.  It  was  something 
out  of  the  common.  It  was  turning  labor  into  fan- 
tastic tricks. 

They  had  an  excellent  supper,  too,  and  after  dusk 
the  clothes  stood  in  glintly  array  on  the  line,  the 
camp-fire  shone  ruddy  in  a  place  where  its  smoke 
could  not  offend  them,  and  they  were  really  like  white 
stones  encircling  an  unusual  day. 

But  when  Robert  awoke  in  the  night  they  gave  him 
a  pang  of  fright,  and  he  was  sorry  his  grandma  had 
decided  to  let  them  bleach  in  the  dew  of  the  June 
woods.  From  his  bed  in  the  carriage  he  could  see 
both  the  road  and  the  lines  of  clothes.  A  horseman 
came  along  the  road  and  halted.  He  was  not  at- 
tracted by  the  camp-fire,  because  that  had  died  to 
ashes.  He  probably  would  not  have  heard  the  horses 
stamp  in  their  sleep,  for  his  own  horse's  feet  made  a 
noise.  And  the  wagon  cover  was  hid  by  foliage. 
But  woods  and  night  were  not  dark  enough  to  keep 
the  glint  of  the  washing  out  of  his  eyes.  Robert  saw 
this  rider  dismount  and  heard  him  walking  cautiously 
into  their  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


A    NKJHT    PICTURE    OF    HOME. 


HERE  at  last  was  the  robber.  After  you  have  given 
over  expecting  a  robber,  and  even  feel  that  you 
can  do  without  him,  to  find  him  stealing  up  in  the  night 
when  you  are  camped  in  a  lonely  place  and  not  near 
enough  either  tent  or  wagon  to  wake  the  other  sleepers 
for  reenforcements,  is  trying  to  the  nerves. 

Bobaday  sat  up  in  the  carriage,  bracing  his  courage 
for  the  emergency.  He  could  take  a  cushion,  jump 
out  and  attack  the  man  with  that.  It  was  not  a 
deadly  weapon,  and  would  require  considerable  force 
back  of  it  to  do  damage.  The  whip  might  be 
better.  He  reached  for  the  whip  and  turned  the 
handle  uppermost.  There  was  no  cave  at  hand  to 
trap  this  robber  in,  but  a  toll-woman  should  not 
show  more  spirit  than  Robert  Day  Padgett  in  the 
moment  of  peril. 

Though  the  robber  advanced  cautiously,  he  struck 
his  foot  against  a  root  or  two,  and  stumbled,  making 


A   NIGHT   PICTURE   OF   HOME. 


301 


the  horse  take  irregular  steps  also,  for  he  was  leading 
his  horse  with  the  bridle  over  his  arm. 
.  And  he  came  directly  up  to  the  carriage.  Robert 
grasped  the  whip  around  the  middle  with  both  hands, 
but  some  familiar  attitude  in  the  stranger's  dim  out- 
line made  him  lower  it. 

"Bobby,"  said  the  robber,  speaking  guardedly, 
"  are  you  in  here  ?  " 

"  Pa  Padgett, "  exclaimed  Robert  Day,  "  is  that 
you?" 

"  Hush  !  Yes.  It's  me,  of  course.  Don't  wake 
your  grandma.     Old  folks  are  always  light  sleepers." 

Pa  Padgett  reached  into  the  carriage,  shook  hands 
with  his  boy,  and  kissed  him.  How  good  the  bushy 
beard  felt  against  Bobaday's  face. 

He  said  nothing  about  robbers,  while  his  father 
unsaddled  his  horse  and  tied  the  animal  snugly  to  a 
limb. 

Then  Pa  Padgett  put  his  foot  on  the  hub  and 
sprang  into  the  carriage. 

"  Is  there  room  for  me  to  stretch  myself  in  here  to- 
night too  ?  " 

*'  Of  course  there  is.  But  don't  you  want  to  see 
grandma  and  aunt  Krin  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  morning.  We'll  all  take  an  early  start. 
Have  they  kept  well  f" 


302 


OLD   CARAVAN    DAYS. 


"Everybody's  well,"  replied  13obaday.  "But  how 
did  you  know  we  were  here  ?  " 

"  I'd  have  passed  by,"  said  Pa  Padgett,  "  if  I  hadn't 
seen  all  that  white  strung  along.  Been  washing 
clothes  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  I  made  out  the  carriage,  and  something 
like  a  wagon  back  in  the  bushes.  So  I  came  up  to 
examine." 

"  We  thought  you'd  be  at  the  State  line,"  said  Rob- 
ert. 

"  Oh,  T  intended  to  ride  out  till  I  met  you," 
replied  his  father.  "  But  I'd  have  missed  you  on 
tiie  plain  road,  and  gone  by  to  the  next  town  to 
stop  for  you,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  washing. 
You  better  go  to  sleep  again  now.  Have  you  had 
a  nice  trip  ?  " 

"Oh,  awful  nice!  There  was  a  little  girl  lost,  and 
we  got  her  to  her  mother  again,  and  Zene  and  the 
wagon  were  separated  from  us  once  ''  — 

"  Zene  has  taken  good  care  of  you,  has  he  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  have  to  take  care  of  us  !  "  remonstrated 
Robert.  "And  last  night  when  there  was  a  fair,  I 
thought  he  stuck  around  more  than  he  was  needed. 
There  was  the  meanest  boy  that  stuck  up  his  nose  at 
movers'  children." 


'UOllBY,"   SAIU   THE  ROBBER,   ''ARE  YOU    IN    HERE?" 


■■ 


■HI 


A    NIGHT   PICTURE   OF    HOME. 


305 


Aunt  Corinne's  brother  Tip  laughed  under  his 
breath. 

"  You'll  not  be  movers'  children  much  longer. 
The  home  is  over  yonder,  only  half  a  day's  ride  or  so." 

"  Is  it  a  nice  place  ?  "  • 

"  I  think  it's  a  nice  place.  There's  prairie,  but 
there's  timber  too.  And  there's  money  lo  be  made. 
You  go  to  sleep  now.  You'll  wake  your  grandma, 
and  I  expect  she's  tired." 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  going.     Is  there  a  garden  ?  " 

"  There's  a  good  bit  of  ground  for  a  garden  ;  and 
there's  a  planting  of  young  catalpas.  Far  as  the  eye 
can  see  in  one  direction,  it's  prairie.  On  the  other 
side  is  woods.  The  house  is  better  than  the  old  one. 
I  had  to  build,  and  I  built  pretty  substantial.  Your 
grandma's  growing  old.  She'll  need  comforts  in  her 
old  age,  and  we  must  put  them  around  her,  my  man." 

Bobaday  thought  about  this  home  to  which  he  and 
his  family  were  to  grow  as  trees  grasp  the  soil. 
Already  it .  eemed  better  to  him  than  the  one  he  had 
left.  ■  There  would  be  new  playmates,  new  landscapes, 
new  meadows  to  run  in,  new  neighbors,  new  prospects. 
The  home,  so  distant  during  the  journey  that  he  had 
scarcely  thought  about  it  at  all,  now  seemed  to  inclose 
him  with  its  pleasant  walls,  which  the  smell  of  new 
timbers  made  pleasant  twice  over. 


mm 


306 


OLD   CARAVAN     DAYS. 


Boswell  and  Johnson,  under  the  carriage,  waked  bv 
the  cautious  talk  from  that  sound  sleep  a  hard  day's 
hunts  after  woods  things  induces,  and  perhaps  snif- 
fing ihe  presence  of  their  master  and  the  familiar  air 
of  home,  rose  up  to  shake  themselves,  and  one  of 
them  yawned  until  his  jaws  creaked^ 

"  It's  the  dogs,"  whispercvl  Bobaday. 

"We  mustn't  set  them  to  barking,"  cautioned  Pa 
Padgett. 

"Well,  good-night,"  said  the  boy,  turning  on  his 
cushion. 

"  Cxood-night.  This  caravan  must  move  on  early 
in  the  morning." 


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f 


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Julia  Ried. 

Links  in  Rebecca's  Life 
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^rrss  of 

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